House of Cards
by Ada C. Eliana
Summary: AU. Declared mentally incompetent, John lost the boys to different families. Twenty years later the demon is coming and he sends Dean to warn Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: While working on my other Supernatural fics I got this idea and decided to take a chance on it. I am by no means giving up on "All That's Left." I hope you enjoy this story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" or Dean or Sam or anything other than the original creative content of this story.**

**Please read and review.

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House of Cards

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 1

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Lawrence, Kansas August 2005

The doors slid open, allowing him entry. He stared at the brightly colored walls and wondered when he had become a regular here. He couldn't quite remember; he knew the first time had been when he had cried and screamed and refused to eat or talk to anyone kindly until someone took him to see his father. They had obliged him, and during his first walk through the long yellow hallway his stomach turned and he decided he would never go again.

But then he did. When he was eight, his adopted mother had finally given in to his pleading and tears and promises, and led him back there. She waited uncomfortably outside the room, picking at her nails and twisting her hair around her fingers, wondering if she had made a mistake.

She never went in.

But she took him back, as many times as he asked, waiting, her dark hair in disarray by the time he was done. She was a good mother, nothing like the one he lost, but she did her best. She tried so hard, but she would never go in, she couldn't face him, couldn't listen to the things he said about her friend; the stories of blood and fire made her queasy. But more than that he thought she had been afraid that if she went in and listened long enough she might believe it. He supposed she believed anyway, why else would she let him continue to come back? But it was okay, knowing what he knew, he could understand why others would want to be naive, want to live in their happy bubble where nothing irregular ever happened.

Where fire was just fire and death wasn't murder.

He supposed that place must be nice.

Jerry, the kind-hearted day nurse smiled broadly as he walked by. "Your old man's excited to see you today," Jerry said.

He just nodded and continued on his way, his boots thumping loudly in the quiet atmosphere.

He followed the corridor around a turn, and then came to room number 58. Sighing deeply, he pushed the door open. On the far side of the room he could see his father staring out the window, arms clutched around his chest; deep in thought. The room had been painted in light blue, apparently a popular color in mental institutions, used to soothe the patients. He just found it annoying after all these years. A simple bed sat against the wall in the corner, a table and chair on the other end. But the notes scribbled in a frenzied hand and tacked up around the small space were what kept his father in here. All sorts of notes about demons and fires acted as decorations, a testament to what some called insanity, and others called knowledge.

He cleared his throat briefly, catching his father's attention. Stubble shown on the older man's face, and his hair was at odd angles, as it became when he ran his hands through it too many times. The brown eyes that blinked at him seemed worried, and pensive.

He supposed Jerry had not meant excited in the happy-go-lucky way, more in the 'is he here yet, there's something I need to tell him' way.

That could not be good.

"Dad?" he asked, stepping into the room. "Is something wrong?"

"It's back," he said simply, but those words carried so much weight, and so much pain with them. "It's back, I know it."

"But Dad…" He wanted to ask him how he knew, where he had heard this from, if it could even be true, but he lost the words as his greatest fears rushed over him quickly. "What… what does it want?" he murmured.

"Your brother. You have to find Sammy, Dean. You have to protect him."

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**A/N: That was just the teaser, longer chapters to come. Please let me know what you thought!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**_-Ada_**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. I really appreciated the feedback! Here's chapter two, please read and review!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.**

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**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 2

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The screen door whined on its hinges as it slammed shut. Marty Guenther sighed with exhaustion after a day's work as he entered the kitchen of his old farmhouse. His wife had picked a design for the kitchen over twenty years ago, peach walls and a fruit border running just below the ceiling. She loved it, but him and his son, well they couldn't stand it; been trying to talk her into changing it for years.

He grinned as the smell of meatloaf wafted across the room, and looked in to see his wife at the table, three plates set out and covered, her fingers twisting nervously in her hair. His grin slipped into a frown. It was a Thursday, the night Ella set aside as 'family dinner night' and made sure their adult son attended every week, despite the fact that he had his own apartment. She never wanted him to leave in the first place, but the boy had quite the independent streak in him, and Marty supposed it wasn't cool to bring the ladies back to his mother's house.

So most Thursdays Marty came home to the sounds of laughter and chatter; Dean explaining the most innocent of his latest exploits to his mother.

"Ella?" Marty called, running his hand over his face.

"Marty," she said, startled, her finger still twisted up in her dark locks.

"What's wrong? Where's Dean?" he asked, a million worst-case scenarios running through his head, ranging from a fender bender to Dean being dead at the morgue.

"He's uh… he's visiting with John," she said, her eyes staring at the wall across from her, studying the fading image of a pear on the border.

"Oh," Marty said, his muscles immediately relaxing and his heart slowing down again. "From the way you're acting, I thought something bad had happened," he sighed.

"John called him. Asked him to stop by. Dean said it sounded important. What could that mean, Marty? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, Ella. Maybe he just wanted to see him?"

"No, no something's wrong, Marty, I know it."

Marty heaved a long sigh and studied his wife's expression, his mind searching back twenty years to the day he called Social Services to report John Winchester's spiraling psychosis. The man had been losing it ever since his wife's death, and Marty had waited two years, thinking he would calm down, he would accept what happened to Mary and move on with his life; that he would get better. But it never happened.

John sold his share of the garage they owned together, started frequenting the house of a local palm-reader, and bought a bunch of guns. When Marty asked him about it John kept raving about the 'thing' that murdered Mary; the evil, otherworldly, supernatural 'thing' that killed her.

He finally had to accept the fact that his old friend John had lost it. Dean was seven, and Sam three, and he could see John leaning on Dean to help take care of Sam already; shirking his fatherly role in search of some elusive answers to his why his wife died. Marty just couldn't let that go on, so he took action.

It appeared that John had been worried about that happening, when the feds took away his kids and had him remanded for a psychological evaluation they found all of their bags packed, they had been planning to leave the next morning.

Once John was declared mentally incompetent, the state sought to have the children adopted. Ella couldn't stand to think of him shuffled around in foster homes. Mary had been her best friend, and since Ella couldn't have children she spent a lot of time with Dean and Sam. So she and Marty decided to seek custody of the boys. Usually three-year-olds were considered too old by the typical white-bread professional prospective parents, but Sam was so sweet and beautiful. A couple: a doctor and writer who had been hoping to adopt for years snatched him up right away. Even though Marty and Ella tried to adopt both of the boys, the judge ordered in favor of the professional couple, and so Sam was out of their grasp.

But that couple did not adopt Dean. He was just too old. And the typical couple worried about any psychological or emotional problems he may have incurred, living with a mentally unstable father. The judge ruled to place Dean in Marty and Ella's care, and so they brought him into their home, and made him their son. And that's what he had been for twenty years.

But Dean's visits to John frightened Ella, she swore she could sense him distancing himself from them after each one, and she knew that John talked about his delusions to him. He never told her what they spoke of, but she could tell from the look in her boy's eyes. She couldn't stand the thought of losing Dean to John, and agonized every minute of his visits, even now, when her boy was twenty-six.

* * *

"Dad, what… what do you mean?" Dean asked, sinking into a chair and staring at his father in disbelief. "How do you know it's back, I mean how do you know anything?" 

"I have some contacts," John said, his eyes not quite meeting Dean's.

"Contacts? What you've been setting up a network from your cozy little room? Pencil it in after arts and crafts?"

John glared at Dean in response to his comment

"All right fine, but what do you want me to do here?" Dean demanded.

"Go tell Sam what's going on," John shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Go tell Sam? Dad, I haven't seen Sam in twenty years! He wouldn't even recognize me if I showed up on his doorstep! And you want me to do what – say 'Hi Sam, I'm your older brother, and by the way there's a demon after you'? Yeah, like that will work," Dean sputtered.

"It'll have to," John said gruffly.

"Dad… you don't even know him. Hell, I don't know him either. I can't believe that I actually buy in to your 'supernatural' tales half the time, and I've been around you all my life. How am I supposed to drag Sam into this when he's been living some normal life out there all this time?" Dean stammered angrily.

The thought of Sam always caused a sharp pain to punch through his heart. The memories of the brother he had never really gotten to know stored away in the back of his mind, only brought back when he heard the kid's name or saw a brown-haired three-year-old. He had convinced himself ever since Sam's new parents moved away that Sam was better off with them, that he would be safe with them. But it never stopped hurting. And thinking of his baby brother out there somewhere and twenty-two just ached. It was his brother and he probably wouldn't even recognize him if they passed each other on the street. But only one person was responsible for their separation, and he split them up twice – dear old Dad.

"Don't you want to protect your brother?" John accused with irritation. "You need to find him, Dean, and you need to make sure he stays safe."

"Why don't you do it? Oh wait, you got yourself locked up in a loony bin – twice!" Dean mocked. John sent a warning glare his way and Dean deflated slightly. "Fine, I'll find him, I'll talk to him, but I'm not promising anything here," he said quietly, walking towards the door. "And maybe you should see about getting yourself released so you can help too," he added before exiting angrily.

* * *

"Mom? Dad?" Sam called as he walked into the front door of the place he called 'home' for the past ten years. "Hello! Anybody home!" A young woman stepped in behind him, her gold curls bouncing as she shut the door. Sam shrugged when he received no reply and tossed his keys on a little table with a bouquet of fake flowers that adorned the entryway. 

The house had been decorated by a top of the line interior designer and so it was immaculate, with strategically placed knick-knacks, paintings that matched the walls, and useless furniture. Sam had always delighted in cluttering the place up, and it drove his mother crazy. As a gesture left over from his teen years, Sam made sure the keys were splayed on the table.

"Is that you, Sam?" a female voice shouted, and Sam heard the screen door that led to the garden clink shut.

"Yeah Mom," he called back.

She raced into the room, wearing garden clogs and gloves, dirt covering the knees of her jeans. She took the gloves off and tossed them beside his keys – an action that surprised him, before pulling him into a warm embrace. "I've missed you," she said before releasing him. Then she turned her attention to Sam's girlfriend. "Jessica," she smiled, hugging her briefly.

"Hi Patty," Jessica greeted back.

Patricia Jacobs was a slight woman, small and thin. Her red hair was mixed with white she bore the signs on age on her freckled face. A journalist by trade she had risen in the ranks ever since her, her husband, and Sam moved to California after an unfortunate incident in Kansas.

She ushered them into the living room. "I didn't think you'd be here for another hour, Sammy," she smiled. He winced at the nickname and Jess laughed.

"Yeah well traffic was good and Jess made me keep the top up on the car, something about not wanting to mess up her hair," Sam sighed, mocking her lightly. "So we took the short-cuts instead of the long route."

"Oh you and your convertible, Sam. Really, you'd think it was your baby the way you go on and on about that thing. I don't know where you get it from."

"Ah yes, because Dad never had any special affection for his BMW," Sam jabbed.

"Men and cars," Patty sighed. "Honestly Jessica you better watch out, if he's anything like his father, if it comes down to a choice between you or the car, he just might pick the car," Patty joked good-naturedly.

"Hey now, let's not pick on Christina and me anymore."

"He named it? When did he name it?" Patty sputtered.

"Yesterday," Jess said, rolling her eyes.

"I can name her, I spent my hard-earned money on Christina, she deserves a name."

"Yeah, 'hard-earned' library book re-shelving guy money."

"That was just during sophomore year," Sam frowned. "I got to be an office assistant in my junior year," he laughed.

"Yep, and now you're a research assistant for Professor Clarke, you're moving up in life, Sam," Jess added.

"Where's Dad, anyway?" Sam asked, bluntly changing the subject.

"He should be home soon," Patty answered. Sam nodded, staring around the living room at the family photos on the wall. The most prominently featured one was of a three-year-old Sam with Patty and Dan on the day they adopted him. He looked pensive and nervous, but Patty and Dan were smiling broadly. Dan was a doctor, and had been working in the hospital one night when Dean and Sam came in. He instantly fell under the spell of Sam's puppy-dog eyes and sad smile and couldn't get the child out of his mind. He and Patty had been trying to adopt for years but something always messed it up for them. They got lucky when it came to Sam and were able to take him home almost right away.

Sam didn't really remember much from before he was adopted, he was too young. He did remember being scared, and desperately wanting a certain person to stay with him. Patty later explained to him that he had an older brother; that his brother hadn't wanted to let him go.

Sam had few real memories of his brother. He could however remember his father, and that memory frightened him.

* * *

"Dean?" Ella called, jumping to her feet instantly as the screen door slammed shut behind her son. Dean nodded in acknowledgement to her, head down and brow furrowed. He slumped down in the kitchen chair, his mind running through the conversation he had with John, and trying to figure out what to do next. "How was your… visit?" Ella asked tentatively from the chair beside his. 

"Don't want to talk about it," he mumbled.

"Okay…" Ella responded, chewing her lip slightly. Dean had always been a mystery of strange moods and the occasional brood. But still, she could always tell when Dean was happy, and always knew when something was upsetting him. She knew better than to push him to talk if he wasn't ready. "How was work?" she tried instead.

"Finished my paperwork," he said with a shrug. "Wasn't real exciting."

Dean was a detective in the Lawrence police department. His original plan after graduating high school had been to join Marty at the garage and fix cars for a living, but Ella stopped him. Working at the garage wasn't good enough for her son, he was smart and could go further in his life than that. Besides, wasn't it every parent's goal to have their child surpass them? He liked structure, order, helping people, and well he also liked guns, so he entered the police academy and quickly rose to the top of the class.

Marty entered the room and joined them at the table, greeting Dean and receiving barely a response.

* * *

They ate in silence for a while, chattering off and on about the happenings at the garage, and poor Mrs. Burton's sick daughter. Finally, Dean put down his fork and looked up at his parents. "I'm going to see Sam," he announced. 

"Sam as in your brother Sam?" Marty clarified.

Dean nodded. "He's twenty-two now," he added. "I never tried before because I didn't want to interrupt his life or anything but… I just… I want to know what he looks like, and what he's been doing, I want to get to know him," he said, all of his words the truth. His father's demon ravings aside, he did want to see Sam again.

"I think that's a great idea," Ella agreed. "Do you know when you're going to contact him?"

"I was actually thinking of leaving tomorrow," Dean announced sheepishly. "I don't want to do this over the phone, and I have some vacation days I haven't taken yet."

"Do you even know where he lives?" Marty put in, surprised that Ella was not more worried about him looking for his brother – seemingly step one to separating himself from them. Couple that with the fact that he had come to this sudden idea just after seeing John, and Marty had reason to be concerned.

"Well see that's where having access to the police database is so nice. I figured I'd look him up while I'm at work tomorrow. I know the Jacobs moved to California; maybe they're still there."

* * *

"How'd your appointment with the cardiologist go?" Patty asked, lifting a forkful of food as she spoke. 

"Dr. Barnes said as long as I stick to my pills and avoid stress I'll be just fine," Dan responded, rolling his eyes slightly. "Avoid stress, hah, if that's the best advice he can give then he needs to go back to med school."

"Doctors are always so picky when it comes to other doctors," Sam sighed in explanation to Jessica who was seated beside him at the dinner table.

"That's because who better to know that all doctors are quacks than a doctor?" Dan said, the second part in their old 'inside joke.'

"Just do as he says, Dan," Patty said. "The last thing we need is for you to have another heart attack."

"I know," Dan replied, slightly miffed. "So when are you two kids heading back to your apartment?" Dan asked, swiftly changing topics.

"Tonight actually," Jess answered. "Sam wants to get himself all settled in before classes start. He's been driving himself crazy, already studying for his LSATs," Jess added with a laugh. Sam glanced at her reproachfully. He opened his mouth to explain the importance of scoring well on his tests so that Stanford Law would accept him when a sharp pain flared behind his eyes.

Kneading his forehead with his hands, he let out a small cry that had his family at his side in an instant. "Not again," Jess whispered as Sam's eyes closed, his forehead creased and jaw tight. "It's okay, it's okay," Jess said comfortingly, her hands tangled in his hair. But Sam did not respond.

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**A/N: Please let me know what you thought!**

**Until next time,**

**_Ada_**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I really appreciate the reviews I've received. I'm glad to know you're enjoying the story. I'm trying to step up the emotions in it too. **

**Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.**

**Enjoy!

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House of Cards

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 3

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"Palo Alto, California address," Dean murmured, reading off the screen in front of him. "No previous offences or tickets, good boy Sammy," he laughed as he looked at the rest of his brother's clean record. "Not even one speeding ticket. You would be the good one in the family." He scrawled the address on a small notepad, looking up from his desk as one of his fellow detectives walked by.

He had already asked for the time off, and his sergeant had responded with an 'it's about time' and a wink. Dean chuckled, imagining just what his boss thought he was planning to do with his spare time. But no, he did not have a girlfriend at the moment, so that was a little off the mark.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the address, all of this seeming much more real now that he actually had a location. He had been tempted to pull up Sam's driver license photo just to see his face, but something stopped him. Some part of him wanted to see Sam for the first time in all these years in person, not some picture of him from when he turned 21 on a little computer screen, but the real deal.

Then his mind wrapped back around to the actual visit. What would he say? What would he do? Just knock on the door and say, 'Hi, I'm your long lost brother. Want to do lunch sometime?' What if Sam was so happy with his life that he didn't want Dean showing up and screwing everything up? What if he didn't even know he had a brother?

This whole 'reunion' could either be wonderful or it could totally blow up in his face.

But there was only one way to find out how it would go. This was going to completely interrupt and possibly destroy Sam's life; he couldn't do it over the phone, he had to be there in person.

He sighed and pulled up an online map of California.

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"Sam," Jess said softly, standing in the doorway of the bedroom of their small apartment. Sam lay face-down in bed, his arms hugging the pillow. All of the lights were off, and the blinds closed tightly so no sunlight could peek through. He stirred slightly, turning his head and blinking his eyes lazily at her.

"What time is it?" he mumbled.

"One o'clock," she replied, perching on the bed next to him. She ran a hand through his hair gently. "You didn't sleep well last night, did you? More nightmares?"

The headache he acquired at his parent's house cut their visit short. And she took the precautions to help Sam through his migraine; painkillers, silence, darkness. He went straight to bed when they returned, not even having the strength to give her a speech about parking his car, 'Christina' carefully and arming the security system.

"Same one as usual," Sam sighed.

"The one with the woman, and the fire?" Jessica asked carefully. For years Sam had suffered from a recurring nightmare about a blonde woman pinned to the ceiling, a splash of blood on her white nightgown, creating a grotesque contrast. And drops of blood fell from her, down at Sam who always viewed the woman from below, standing on the floor and staring up at her. And as if that was not bad enough, there was the next part; where she burst into flames, and Sam was left screaming as the fire raged.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, burying his face in the pillow again and trying desperately to erase the feeling of blood spattering on his face, and the look of horror on the woman's face. She seemed so familiar, but he could never figure out who she was, or why she haunted him at night.

Jess rubbed Sam's shoulders in a comforting gesture. "Do you want something to eat? I made pancakes," she asked, never really sure about what to do when Sam was in one of his post-nightmare 'moods.' She knew the dream bothered him, hell, it scared her and she didn't have to see it.

"Yeah, sounds great," he said, blinking his eyes as he felt the headache continuing to recede. He pushed himself up in the bed, Jess' favorite red sheets wrinkling under his hands.

Sam had been prone to intense migraines ever since he hit 12. He had seen some of the top neurologists in the country but no one could tell him what was wrong. It was just something he would have to learn to live with. He could go months without one and then suddenly end up on the receiving end of a headache that could keep him down for days.

Recently they had begun to build up, occurring sometimes daily, and though neither said anything, both Sam and Jess were worried about it. Being a lawyer would be difficult if he was stricken by migraines every other day. Not to mention that there had to be some sort of ill effect on his brain from them.

* * *

"You sure you don't want to call him first, or send him a letter, give him some warning that you're coming, some sort of icebreaker other than a doorbell?" Ella asked nervously as Dean stood in the living room with her. The Impala was outside, packed with a small duffle bag, and Dean had come to say goodbye before taking off to California to see Sam.

"I'm not really a phone or letter type of guy, mom. You know that," Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head in his typical gesture of nervousness.

"But you don't want to…. I don't know… honey I just don't want you to go all the way out there and end up disappointed," she admitted. She had been all for Dean visiting Sam when he first suggested it, but after giving it some thought she couldn't help but realize that it was a recipe for disaster.

"For better or for worse I need to _see_ him," Dean sighed, sitting on the couch. Ella sat beside him, hooking one leg beneath her and angling her body towards her son. "You remember how we were, right? How close we were as kids. I could barely function after they separated us, and I don't know, I just… I feel like I lost a part of myself when they moved out to California. Ever since then I… I just… I've been too afraid to contact him, afraid he'd reject me or be so happy he wouldn't want me around, or to see who'd taken my place, but… I have to go. I don't have a choice, he needs me." He didn't mean to say the last part, it just slipped out before he could stop himself, and he stared with wide eyes at Ella, waiting to see if she had noticed what he said, and what her reaction would be.

"Dean… what are you talking about? He needs you? Why? What's going on?" she asked softly, caressing Dean's cheek with her short fingers.

"I… I didn't mean that… I mean, he…" Dean stuttered, trying to avoid Ella's piercing brown eyes. She always had a way of reading him, of knowing when he was lying or trying to pull one over on her.

"Dean, sweetie, don't lie to me," she whispered. "What's happening?"

"Nothing… I just… I want to see Sam, isn't that enough?" he asked, trying to pull away from her. She gently took his hand in hers, using the tactile contact to try and calm the young man.

"Is this about John? Did he say something to you?" All of the fears she had held at bay for twenty years washed over her, a raging storm with the possibility of dragging her under if they were true. She was losing Dean. He was going to be a Winchester again, and she was losing her only son.

"Look, I know you're unsure about whether you believe him or not, but I know he's right, and… and something's coming, and Sammy needs me." The raw honesty, the truth and fear in Dean's eyes startled Ella.

"Dean…" she began, unsure as to how she planned to continue that sentence. But Dean had beaten her to it, gently removing his hand from hers and backing away, standing and making for the door.

"Dean, wait!" she called as he headed for the kitchen. She caught his hand as he tried to the knob, and forced him to face her. "No matter what you think you're facing out there, just remember that you have me, me and Marty. You have a family Dean, a family outside of John and Sam. Don't forget that. Because no matter who gave birth to you, to me, you'll always be my son, and I'll always be your mother. If you need something, anything, I don't care what, I don't care when, you call me, okay? Because I love you Dean. And I would do anything I could to help you, to protect you. So please baby, if you need something, don't hesitate, don't think you can't count on me. Okay?" she demanded when she received no response.

Dean's eyes were tearing as he stared at this woman who had spent twenty years raising him. There were lines on her face that hadn't been there when he moved in, and her dark hair was speckled with gray. A woman who had given him a life filled with normal after three years of terror and ghosts and evil. This woman who never flew on a plane because she was afraid it would crash, and who ran to the basement during every bad thunderstorm, who cried the time Dean had a high fever, who hit Tim Davies with a broom after he punched Dean in the face. This woman was willing to put herself in danger, willing to get involved in whatever trouble was coming Dean's way just because she loved him.

He looked at her and thought of his mother, who undoubtedly had died trying to protect his little brother. He never wondered if she would have done it had she known the outcome. But here was Ella, who knew about the fire, knew that Mary had died on the ceiling, and who knew in some part of her heart that everything John said was true, and she was willing to make the sacrifice, was willing to die for him.

How did he end up with two women like that as his mothers?

"Mom listen, I love you too, okay, you know that. And I don't know what might happen, but don't think like that, right now, I'm just visiting my little brother, alright? Can we just take it from there?" he asked hopefully. He didn't want to think about the demon, about the thing that destroyed his mother coming for his brother, having some sort of plans for his brother, some new way to rip Dean's heart to shreds.

"Alright," Ella said. "Have a safe trip." She hugged him tightly, fiercely, and when she released him she squeezed his hands and communicated her love through her eyes. "Be careful, Dean. And please check in with me. I love you, good luck."

"Thanks Mom, I love you too. I'll call you to let you know how it goes." And with that he walked out of the farmhouse and to the waiting Impala, hoping that he wasn't leaving this life behind for good.

As Dean pulled away from the house, Ella knew what she had to do. She had not spoken to John Winchester in twenty years, but she needed to know what he said to Dean, no matter how hard it might be to face.

* * *

"John!" The voice broke him out of his thoughts, where he stared at scrawled notes about a yellow-eyed demon and the deaths of women in their children's nursery. He looked up quickly, reflexes sharp, and his eyes rested on a woman standing in the doorway. He was stunned to see his old friend Ella Guenther standing there. Slacks and a blouse were hanging on her thin frame. Her face was stony, with pieces of wavy dark hair framing it, but her two green eyes revealed the anger and fear that rested in her heart.

"Ella," John said, masking the surprise from his voice. "What brings you here?"

She tossed her purse on the floor and strode over to him with confidence she never possessed before. She glared at John, like a wild beast set on protecting its young. "What did you say to Dean?" she practically growled.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you spoke to him, I know you told him to find Sam. But why, John? What is going on, and how is _my _son involved?"

"You mean _my_ son," John enforced, stepping up to Ella and trying his best to intimidate her simply by towering over her.

"I raised him for the past twenty years while you were locked up in here. He's my son, John. I don't care how much DNA the two of you share, I'm the one who's been there for him. So again, what did you say to him?"

"Are you sure you really want to know?" John asked. His last conversation about Ella had been about the demon, about Mary's death. And she had pushed him away, told him to shut up and seek help. He doubted she was more open to the idea of demons and spirits now than she was then. And he did not really want to argue with her or scare her. He was grateful that she had taken such good care of Dean after he was locked up. He had her to thank for the reasonably well-adjusted young man who had just left for California.

"Just tell me," she said forcefully.

"The – thing – that killed Mary is coming back. It's targeting the children whose mothers it killed, children like my Sam. I sent Dean out to make sure it doesn't get to him," John said simply.

"What do you mean 'thing'?"

"My sources think it's a demon."

"A demon? You're crazy!" she shouted. "And so what, you would just send Dean out into danger? You really believe this thing exists, that it killed your wife, and it could kill your sons, but do you even know how to fight it, how to kill it?" she demanded. Not that she believed what he was saying, but she needed to know how much danger he was willing to send her son into.

"I'm still working on that?"

"So then what the hell is Dean supposed to do?!" she shouted.

"It doesn't want to kill Sam, it wants him for something else, and Dean's there to make sure it doesn't get to Sam."

"So it doesn't want to kill Sam, but what about Dean, does it have plans for Dean?!"

"No… just Sam."

"So what's to stop it from going after him then?"

John said nothing to this, and as Ella waited her anger piqued and a small growl was released from her throat as she ran to the walls where John had taped up pictures and information on demons. She ripped at the papers, tearing them off the walls and balling them in her other hand. John raced over to stop her, grabbing her wrists tightly.

"This is madness, John!" she shouted, ripping one hand free and waving the papers in his face. "This is crazy! And it has nothing to do with Dean!"

"It's true and you know it!" he screamed back. "I remember the look in your eyes when I told you about Mary, you believed me then, and you believe me now! And that's what really scares you, Ella!"

She fought to free her other wrist, letting the papers drop to the floor as she stared in John's eyes, fighting against the panic that raced through her heart. He was telling the truth, and her Dean was in danger, all because of this man. She would not lose Dean because of John Winchester, no one would take her son away from her.

"Besides, I'm being released in a few days and I'll be able to help the boys out," John added almost carelessly, and Ella finally lost her temper. Her free hand formed in to a fist, and she lashed out at John's face, hitting him as hard as she could. He released her and she staggered backward.

"You can't have Dean, I won't let you take him from me," she hissed before turning and hurrying out of the room.

* * *

When Marty arrived home it was to find Ella sitting on the porch steps, tears flooding her face and her knees pulled up against her chest.

"Ella?!" he called as he approached, hurrying to his wife. He knew Dean had left, the younger man had come to see him at the garage before taking off, but he didn't think that would reduce his wife to crying on the porch. "Ella what's wrong?" he asked, cupping her chin with his hands and lifting her head so she would look at him.

Ella swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Dean went to California because John told him to," she admitted through the lump in her throat.

"What?" Marty asked, not comprehending how she knew this, or what had happened to get them to this point.

"John says that the thing that killed Mary is back and after Sam, so he sent Dean out to protect him," she said in a rush, the words leaving her quickly, and she did not even bother trying to explain it slowly and carefully to Marty.

"Did Dean tell you this or…?"

"Dean alluded to it, so I… I talked to John, and he told me everything."

"You spoke to John… what?" Marty asked, not grasping what had happened.

"That's not what's important, Marty! John sent Dean off into danger, and he's going to go too, and then we'll lose Dean to him, or to that thing!" She began crying again, and Marty, though still not understanding exactly what was happening, pulled her into his arms. "I can't lose Dean, I can't," she sobbed.

* * *

**A/N: That scene with Ella and John just came out of nowhere, wasn't even in the first draft, but I couldn't just see Ella waving Dean off without realizing why he was going or needing to know what was going on. **

**Anyway, I would love to know what you thought, please review.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**_Ada_**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well I'm back. Thanks for the reviews and enjoy chapter four!**

**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.

* * *

House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 4

* * *

The next morning found Jess at the kitchen table, a rather large black scrapbook in front of her and stacks upon stacks of photos and colored paper.

Sam wandered in, searching for coffee. His headache had dissipated the evening before, and he was grateful for that. Jess was staring at a particular photo, her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at it. "What are you looking at?" he asked, coming around behind Jess to look for himself.

"This is you, right?" Jess asked. Sam took the photo and from her and stared at it. It was from just after the Jacobs adopted him. He was smiling at the camera, and next to him stood a boy that looked to be about four years older. He had sandy blonde hair and was holding Sam's hand in his own. "Who's that with you?" Jess questioned.

"My brother," Sam responded, his voice thick.

Jess' head snapped up. "You have a brother?"

"My biological brother," Sam clarified. "He went with a different family. But he was in Lawrence too, so my parents had us visit with each other."

"What's his name?"

"Dean I think," Sam answered, frowning as he studied the photo. "Wow, I'd almost forgotten all about this, I haven't even thought of him in years."

"It's cute," Jess said, taking the photo back from him. "Can I put it in the scrapbook?"

"Sure, whatever," Sam said, going over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup.

"So you haven't seen Dean since your family moved to California?" Jess questioned as she put photo tabs on a bright blue sheet of paper and put the picture in it.

"No I haven't," Sam responded.

"Don't you wonder where he is, what he's been doing?"

"I don't know; I guess I just never really thought about it," Sam shrugged noncommittally.

She looked at Sam oddly, and he knew she was wondering how someone could have a brother and then just forget about him. "It's not a big deal," Sam said. "This kind of stuff, it happens all the time to messed up families like mine. Dean probably never thinks about me either."

"It's okay, Sam. I didn't mean for you to get defensive. I was just – surprised, that's all. But you look so cute in these kid pictures, no wonder your parents adopted you." She stood up and kissed him, putting her arms around his neck. "I love you, Sam," she sighed, staring up into his eyes.

"I love you too," he responded.

"Ready to run errands now?" she asked with a smirk.

"Jess…" Sam began, but she was already dragging him out of the kitchen.

"No excuses, you're coming," she laughed, and he smiled and knew that he would follow her anywhere.

* * *

Dean hated the stiffness in his legs and back that came with long hours of driving. But he hated flying more, so driving to Palo Alto had won over taking the next flight out. Besides, this way he could spend more quality time with his beloved 1967 Impala (it had once belonged to his mother) and circle Sam's block over and over trying to come up with the right words to say to his brother. 

When he thought about Sam all he could picture was a chubby three-year-old with bright eyes and an adorable smile. Sam had depended on Dean for everything, as their father was not much for parenting after Mary's death, and Sam needed someone to love him, to hold him. Dean was the one person Sam could count on in the scary world their father raised him in, and he would cling to Dean, attaching himself to the older boy whenever strangers came near them.

But no matter how cute he had thought it was before, Dean would never forget the way Sam had latched himself to him when they were in that foster home before the hearing. He had been so scared, and Dean was the only person he could count on, the only person in the world who could make him feel safe. His body shaking he had held Dean and cried, and Dean had never been so angry or so frightened in his life. Sam had been right about those people from the beginning, and if he hadn't only been seven at the time, he would have torn them apart for what they did to his little brother.

But even that memory was sometimes preferable to the one where Sam's adoptive parents packed up practically overnight and took off. They had let him say goodbye to Sam, given him one measly hour to give up his brother before they whisked him off to California without any explanation at all. Of course adults seldom thought they owed explanations to kids, so he shouldn't have been surprised. By then Sam was comfortable with the Jacobs, but when they came to take him from Dean forever, Sam had clung to him, crying and screaming and refusing to let go. In that moment Dean would have done anything to keep Sam with him, but instead he was forced to pry his little brother's fingers apart and hand him over to his 'parents.' Sam had cried all the way to the car, and Dean almost ran after it, not that he knew what he would do if he got there, but Marty held him back, not roughly, just enough to stop him. He had refused to talk or eat after the car with his little brother in it left.

The next day, Ella bought him a Golden Retriever, just a puppy, it was small and needy and loved him. However, having a dog couldn't possibly fill the empty space where his brother had been. But to do justice to his memory, Axel (Marty helped him pick out the name) had been a good dog, his constant shadow as he grew up with the Guenthers. Dean had taken care of Axel, and some of his fondest memories involved that loyal dog. When the poor dog died of old age Dean had completely lost it, reverting to the way he had been when Sam had been taken from him. He snapped out of it after a day or so, and found out that Ella had been panicking, trying to decide if buying another dog would help, or if she needed to try something different this time. And people wondered why he loved that woman so much.

But he and his father Marty knew how to really blow off steam. They hunted. There was nothing quite like hours tramping in the woods, the feel of the rifle in his hands as he stalked down a deer or a rabbit. They ate whatever they killed so it wasn't wasteful. It was different from the hunting John had been preparing him for, but Dean enjoyed it.

Having Marty as a father was much different from the John Winchester that existed after his mother died. The first time he shot targets with John beside him, and saw the pride in John's eyes as he hit every one was one of his fondest from that era; one of the rare moments when John displayed any pride or love at all.

He never felt like he had to prove anything to Marty, never had to struggle for his attention, for vindication. Just coming down to breakfast was enough to get his hair ruffled, a good grade on a quiz or showing him something new he learned enough for pride to light up his eyes, and one report card filled with A's would always get him a prize. The easy affection, the clear love, all the things he had once had with John and Mary but lost the night she died had been returned to him with Ella and Marty.

It only made it harder to visit John, to call him Dad when he had begun to associate 'Dad' with a balding man in an old farmhouse who tossed a ball around with him on weekends and sat in a tree for hours hoping a deer would wander by; the man who raced outside when it started snowing and played with him, the man who made pancakes on Saturdays and who never talked about demons or salted the windows, a man who would never hand him a rifle and leave him alone to guard Sam. He liked to think the life with Marty and Ella was something Mary would have wanted for him; that the three years after her death were just a mistake.

And he wanted more than anything to believe his real dad was just crazy, and had hallucinated the way his mother died; had lost his grip on reality when she was taken from him, and that nothing he said had ever been real. But he knew; he could see it in John's eyes, the man was telling the truth, he always had been. And that meant that he had to leave his happy life behind, because John told him Sammy was in danger, and no matter how much time had passed, the need to protect his little brother was as strong within Dean as ever.

* * *

_There was blood, dripping slowly onto his forehead. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it and despite his better judgment, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at the woman pinned to the ceiling above him. He had seen her before, so many times, too many times. Her mouth was open in wordless horror, a slash on her abdomen stained her white nightgown red, and from there the blood dropped down. Sam was ready to wake up, he was passed ready, he did not want to see anymore, because the dream never changed, it always ended in the same gruesome way, and he had already experienced it enough times before. _

_Usually he could move, but he was pinned this time, trapped lying just below her. But this time the dream changed more. A man walked in to the room and looked down at Sam. "Hey dude," he said quietly, staring straight at him. Sam tried to speak, to move, to do anything, but he was stuck, only able to move his eyes. Another drop of blood and the man's eyes inevitably turned upward. Sam's gaze was transfixed on the woman again as the man stared up at her too, and he heard the man scream in denial, "Mary!" _

_This next part Sam knew very well. Flames burst from beneath the woman's – Mary's? – body. The man was screaming and the flames were growing, swallowing her body. Sam felt tears sting his eyes and then someone's hands were on his shoulders, shaking him and he finally woke up. _

"Sam!" Jessica's voice was the first thing he heard, taking away the echoes of the roaring flames and the screaming. The blonde hair surrounding her face reminded him momentarily of the woman in the dream and he shuddered, shutting his eyes against the image. He flicked them open again and reminded himself that this was Jessica, not Mary, not the woman in the dream. "Are you okay?" she asked softly as his eyes focused on hers. They were both in bed, early morning sunlight filtering in past the blinds, and she was leaning over him so she could see his face.

"Yeah… yeah, sorry," he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face and feeling tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Another nightmare?" she sighed.

"Yeah, God, it just keeps getting worse," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose where a headache had blossomed. "This time there was a man there, he saw her on the ceiling and he was screaming."

"What is with this nightmare?" Jess asked, concern flashing in her eyes. "It doesn't make sense, why would you dream this over and over?"

"I don't know," Sam sighed. "I wish it would just go away…"

"Maybe you should see someone about it, maybe there's something in your subconscious that's causing this. Because Sam, this can't be healthy."

"Maybe, I don't know, the whole thing is just bizarre." He looked over at the clock and saw that it was 4 in the morning. He groaned and lay back down. Jess lay down beside him, her hand on his chest, and he pulled her close as sleep overcame him.

As his breathing evened out the image of the man standing over him lingered and Sam wondered why he looked so familiar.

* * *

Sam fumbled for his phone, annoyed by the constant trilling of the ring-tone. Of course, the phone evaded him. He must have nudged it though because something crashed to the floor and the sound shifted. 

"Sam," Jess groaned from the other side of the bed. "Get the phone."

Sam finally forced his eyes open and scanned the floor for the offending object, grabbing it roughly and answering it. "Hello?" He paused as the caller spoke, and then rolled his eyes. "Hey mom. Yes, yes I was sleeping."

"It's your mom?" Jess asked, looking at the clock. It was eight o'clock in the morning.

Sam nodded at Jessica apologetically, and then slumped out of the bedroom and to the couch to talk to her. Jess sighed and rolled over, attempting to go back to sleep.

"No my headache went away," he said. "Yeah I'm fine now. What's wrong though, you never call this early?" Sam sighed at her response of _'I was worried about you.' _"Mom, I'm fine, I promise. There's nothing for you to be worried about. I promise you I would call you if there was." He stretched out, listening to her side of the story. She finally seemed calmer and decided to let him get back to bed. "I love you too, mom. Bye."

Sam closed his cell phone and padded back into the bedroom.

* * *

It was just after 10a.m. when Dean rounded the turn on to the road Sam lived on. He pulled up in front of a large apartment building, and double-checked the address. He stared at the place, took in how nice it was, how well-kept the place seemed. And he tried to picture his brother living there. Screwing up his courage, and still lacking a good opening line, Dean killed the engine and pushed the door open. Hoping he wasn't going to be disturbing Sam (was he a late sleeper?), he walked up the steps and looked for Sam's apartment number. It was time to see his brother again; for the first time in twenty years.

* * *

**A/N: Well he's arrived, so any thoughts on what'll happen in the next chapter? Let me know with a review!**

**Thanks,**

**_Ada_**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I wrote a lot of different drafts of this section, and I had a hard time coming up with one that actually sounds... I don't know... right. But when I got to this one, I think it fits, and I hope you like it too. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing!**

* * *

**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

* * *

_"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." - Unknown_

* * *

Sam was halfway through his second cup of coffee and had finished his bagel when he heard a knock at his door. He glanced at it in confusion; he hadn't buzzed anyone up. Irritated that apparently someone had held the door for somebody else, he rubbed his still-aching head and walked over to the door.

"Jess! You expecting anybody?" he called towards the bathroom where Jess was brushing her teeth.

"Dave said he might stop over," Jess called back after rinsing her mouth.

Sam pulled the door open and stared in confusion at the stranger on his doorstep. The man in front of him was wearing worn jeans, a T-shirt and a flannel. His blonde hair was clipped into a neat crew cut with a long top that was styled up with a little gel. The really strange thing about him was the way he was looking at Sam, as if he hadn't seen him in years; as if he was trying to take in every aspect of him.

"Um… hello," Sam said. The guy stared at Sam for another moment, and then snapped out of his daze and rubbed the back of his head nervously.

"Hi Sam," he said quietly, looking up at Sam hopefully.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Sam questioned.

"You uh… you probably don't remember me but…" Dean stuttered, trying to find the right words to tell Sam who he was.

"Who is it?" a girl's voice called from the other room. Sam didn't respond, looking expectantly at Dean to continue instead. He was just opening his mouth to continue when a leggy blonde walked up behind Sam and gave Dean the same confused look his brother was shooting him.

"I uh… my name's Dean, and I'm your older brother," Dean admitted in a rush, watching as Sam and Jess' jaws dropped open.

Jess recovered before Sam did, pushing Sam backwards so she could invite Dean in and introduce herself. He nodded in thanks but his eyes never strayed from Sam. His brother was tall, taller than he was, with the same build as their father. He looked so much like John. Dean wanted nothing more than to pull Sam into a big bear hug, but he refrained for Sam's sake. The younger brother seemed to be in shock and he didn't want to do anything to push him into a corner. He settled for a hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a squeeze and communicating a look filled with longing for the life they lost the night they were taken away from John, for the fact that they didn't even recognize each other. Sam seemed to unfreeze at the touch, and nodded slightly, leading Dean to the living room and sitting on the couch.

"So um…" Sam began, cutting off and shaking his head. "I don't even know what to ask," he sighed. Whatever he expected when he opened the door, it had certainly not been to see his long estranged brother standing on the other side. He didn't even know how to react.

"You should be asking for my identification," Dean smiled. He couldn't take his eyes off of Sam. He kept trying to wrap his head around how his short little brother had somehow morphed into this man in the time they had been apart. "I could be pretending for all you know," he added. He reached into his wallet and pulled out his license, tossing it to Sam to look at.

Sam read over his name 'Dean Winchester Guenther.' "So you kept 'Winchester' too," Sam said, just because he didn't know what else to say. It was shocking to say the least, to have Dean show up out of the blue, no phone call, no letter, just a stranger at the door. And they had just been talking about him yesterday, could that have really been just a coincidence? Even though he knew he had a brother he never really expected Dean to initiate any contact. If he hadn't yet, why would he? Sam didn't need a brother, didn't want one, he was happy with his life the way it was.

"Yeah, it was a struggle for me to accept 'Guenther,' much less give up 'Winchester'," Dean responded, unaware of the thoughts running through Sam's head.

"So… what brings you here?" Jess asked, knowing that Sam was thinking it but not wanting to say it. Judging by the look on his face anything he said might come out with a negative tone to it anyway.

"I figured twenty years was a long enough time to leave you to your life, Sam, I wanted to see what you'd made of it," he shrugged, taking the I.D. back and slipping it in his wallet. "But judging by what I'm seeing here," he smiled good-naturedly at Jess, "you've done pretty well for yourself." His eyes were drawn to the family photos scattered around, the images of happy faces; images that did not include him.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam responded, staring at Dean and trying to equate him with the boy in the scant memories he had of his earlier years, memories of warmth and love and safety. Of course Dean was doing the same thing, searching for little Sammy in the man before him. "I'm uh… I'm in my last year of pre-law at Stanford," he added, thinking he should give Dean something.

"Wow, Stanford, good for you Sammy," Dean smiled with real warmth.

"What do you do, Dean?" Jess asked. On one hand she felt she should leave the brothers alone, but she couldn't imagine either of them running this conversation, she felt they needed help.

"I'm a detective in Lawrence," he said.

"You flew out here?" Sam asked in surprise. "Why?"

"I don't do planes, dude, I drove. And I came here to see you." Dean was becoming frustrated. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't come here after twenty years to make small talk with his brother as if he was a stranger on a bus.

"Sammy…" he began with hesitation. But he didn't know what to say. He couldn't say the truth could he? That he had half hoped that Sam would have been unhappy, would have seen Dean and needed him. That he wanted a reception other than the indifference he was sensing from Sam, the idea that he was interrupting Sam's life somehow, an unwanted interruption. "Look, I…" He stopped as Sam suddenly winced and brought his hands up to his head. "Sammy?" he asked with concern, leaning forward.

"It's okay," Jess reassured him, putting her hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sam honey, come on, let's get you to the bedroom." Sam allowed himself to be led away, and Dean could only watch.

* * *

Dean was looking at the photo of Sam on the day of his adoption by the Jacobs when Jess walked into the room. She looked worried and tired, and cast an apologetic glance in Dean's direction. "What's wrong with him?" 

"He gets migraines," Jess explained, sitting opposite Dean on the couch.

"Well I mean does he have any treatment for them?" Dean demanded.

"He takes pain meds, there's not really much else the doctors can do."

"Nothing else they can do? He's in so much pain he has to leave the room and there's nothing else they can do?" Dean hissed, keeping his voice low in deference to Sam.

"I know it looks bad, but really, you get used to seeing it after a while."

Dean opened his mouth to say something he might regret, but stopped, putting a hand to his face and closing his eyes. He stood and turned away from Jessica. "God, what the hell am I doing here?" he asked.

"Dean…"

"He doesn't want me here…" he whispered. "I don't know… I don't know why I thought he would. He doesn't remember, he doesn't remember Mom dying, and those years with Dad, he doesn't remember the foster home and the hearing and the move… He doesn't remember me," he whispered the last part painfully, tears stinging his eyes.

Jess came up behind him and uncomfortably putting her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Just give Sam a chance," she said quietly. "He's just in shock, you know, you coming here was a real surprise," she explained.

"It's just I've… I've thought about him everyday, you know," he sighed. "I just…" He ran the conversation with his father through his mind again, reminding himself of why he was there, why he couldn't give up and leave, why he had to stay with Sam.

_"It's back. It's back, I know it."_

_"What… what does it want?"_

_"Your brother. You have to find Sammy, Dean. You have to protect him."_ He shook off Jessica's hand and reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card from the stack his mother had ordered him when he got his promotion. "Here Jess, can you have Sam call me when he's feeling better? I really do need to talk to him," he said, handing the card to her.

"Sure. I'm really sorry about this, Dean," she said.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Jessica. Have a good day, take care of that brother of mine, okay?" he smiled.

"I always do," she responded.

They said goodbye and she showed him out, the door closing firmly behind him.

* * *

Dean had been staring at a cup of cold coffee for over an hour when his cell phone rang. He fumbled for it, expecting it to be his mom checking up on him, so the hesitant voice on the other end caught him by surprise. 

_"Hi… Dean? It's Sam. If you still wanted to talk, you could come over now," _he said without giving Dean a chance to speak. He sounded apologetic, and slightly in pain. Dean wondered if the migraine had really gone away.

"Yeah okay, see you soon."

_"Yeah. Bye."_

Dean closed his cell phone and headed back to the Impala, steeling himself for what was bound to be an incredibly awkward conversation.

* * *

Jess and Sam were ready for him this time. He buzzed up to the apartment, and found lunch set-up in the kitchen. He didn't say much as he ate, just answered the questions that were mostly asked by Jess, and tried not to stare at Sam too intently. When they had finished, Jess suggested, they go into the living room while she cleaned up, and Dean finally saw his opening. He had to make Sam understand what it was like twenty years ago, the things that happened. He needed Sam to know what that time had been like, what it felt like to know that he had so little control and that every decision he made was the wrong one. Sam might be happy in the life that he had, but Dean wanted him to know just how much that had cost everyone else; just how much that had cost Dean. 

They had settled onto the couch, when Dean finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Do you remember the foster home we went to after they took us from Dad?" Dean asked carefully.

"No," Sam responded, genuinely curious about what Dean was to recount. He had scant memories about that time, and couldn't really make sense of what he did remember.

"The Child Services people took us from Dad on a Monday morning. Dad had all of our stuff packed; they showed just before we were supposed to leave town… man if we'd only left the night before…" Dean sighed. "The suits took us down to their office or whatever, and then brought us to the foster home we were supposed to stay in until they'd evaluated Dad and decided what to do with us.

"It seemed like a nice place. But there were a lot of kids there," Dean began. Pausing for a moment as if trying to recall something he hadn't thought about in a very long time. "About three were under school age, including you, and then there were the other three, I was the youngest of that group. A couple of days after we were placed there, I came back from school and I couldn't find you," Dean closed his eyes for a moment, lost in a memory of panic and fear. "The three little kids, they weren't in the bedrooms or anywhere. I panicked you know, it was my job to keep you safe and I had screwed up. The foster parents were out in the backyard smoking or drinking or something, and I was on my way out to confront them when I heard your voice. It was coming from behind the wall.

"There was some sort of storage area – an attic or something – behind the wall in the upstairs hallway. There was a door and a lock that they hid behind a bookshelf. I opened it, and got you and the other two out. All three of you kids were crying and screaming. And you clung to me like I was your lifeline, you know?

"After I got you calmed down, I got you to tell me that they did that on every school day, locked up the little kids while the older ones were at school. They threatened all of you to not say anything, and usually got you out before we came home. But they forgot that day… I was so angry, Sammy. I went up to them and I started yelling and attacking them. I wasn't exactly up to their level, being seven and all, and so they beat on me pretty easily. And then you tried to help and they hit you in the face. All I could think about was how Dad told me to protect you, to keep you safe, and so I took off with you, ran away.

"And then I made the biggest mistake of my life," he sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"What?" Sam asked, leaning towards him.

"There was this huge bruise on your cheek, and you kept telling me that your jaw hurt really badly. I was afraid it was broken, so I took you to the hospital. And the ER doctor that night was Dan Jacobs," he said quietly.

"My dad?" Sam said in surprise.

"I never should have brought you there," Dean said. "The bone was just bruised; I could've taken care of you myself, I should've taken care of you myself… I could have gone to the Guenthers, they would have helped in an instant. But no, I went to that damn ER, and he saw you, and he took you away from me," Dean said angrily, voicing his own guilt over how things had gone for the first time.

The admission was followed by silence as Sam stared at his brother; the tight jaw and the stiffened muscles.

"Dean…" Sam sighed after the silence stretched for too long. "I guess… I don't know… I don't know what to say. I mean, I've had a good life," he said. "I love my parents, and I… I've liked my upbringing and my life."

"So what you're saying is that the biggest mistake of my life was the best thing to ever happen to you?" Dean asked with a long sigh. He didn't know what he expected, what he thought Sam would say to that story. He didn't even really know why had told Sam at all. "That's okay," he breathed quietly. He could tell he was making Sam uncomfortable, and he hadn't meant to, the last thing he needed was for Sam to feel awkward around him. He needed Sam to trust him; to believe him, because soon Dean would be the only person who could help Sam. "Not like we can change it, right?" he offered.

"I guess not," Sam said quietly. "But what happened to the foster parents?"

"They got arrested," Dean said with a wry smile. "Once we came forward the other kids spoke up. I don't know if they ever went to prison, but they definitely lost the right to be foster parents."

Dean paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, trying to figure out what to say to Sam. "Look, Sam. I didn't tell you about this so you could feel bad for me or something, I just wanted you to know how things went down. I mean you're lucky you don't remember any of it, because that isn't exactly my favorite time period to look back on. I was supposed to take care of you, protect you, and then I lost you; biggest failure of my life.

"And now… I just want to get to know you again, you know? I know you're not the same kid you were back then, but we're still brothers, and that means something, doesn't it?" Dean asked hopefully.

"I… I guess it does," Sam said slowly. Dean's eyes were glassy and Sam felt that he couldn't deny him anything he wanted. After all, three years old or not, he had been the one who left, the one who went away from Dean. In his head he heard two little boys laughing and for a moment caught a glimpse of a blonde seven-year old boy who said he would protect him forever.

"So… what're you doing tonight?" Sam asked with a smile.

* * *

**A/N: Who could turn Dean down after a story like that one? Remember, Dean doesn't know how much time he has, John's going to be on his way soon, and who knows what the demon's up to. There was a certain awkwardness in every first conversation I pictured, but I sort of liked Dean trying the whole smalltalk thing and then deciding he didn't like it, and following it up by confessing to Sam the worst mistake he ever made. Anyway, I hope you liked it, please let me know what you thought.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**_Ada_**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I swear this story is writing itself. This chapter went in a completely different direction than I was planning. But I like it, so here it is. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewing, it's great to know your opinions on the story!**

**Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.**

* * *

**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

* * *

"It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend." -William Blake

* * *

"So then, Tim takes a swing at me, completely taking me by surprise, the kid was a bully but I never thought he had the balls. I'm nursing my sore eye and about to pop him one when my mom comes running out of the house _screeching_ with a broom in her hand and actually started whacking him with it. I couldn't believe it, the whole thing was insane," Dean laughed, tipping his beer bottle to drink from it.

Sam was laughing across from him, a strange sort of giggling sound that he had begun making after his second beer. Now on his third, Sam was becoming more and more odd. Dean found it sort of endearing, so he did nothing to stop him from continuing to drink.

After their conversation at the apartment, Dean and Sam had split up, giving Sam a chance to mull over everything that had been said and allow Dean to call his mother with an update. She had sounded odd, worried and strained as she spoke to him, and something about her tone made Dean think she had done something that she shouldn't have. But as was the way with Ella Guenther, he would wait until she came clean, and it would probably only be another day before she did. He had then spoken to Marty, whose first question had been to ask when Dean was coming home. Yeah, something was definitely going on.

Dean had eaten dinner, gone through a local newspaper for any signs of demonic activity (John Winchester, for all his faults, had taught him how to know if something was coming) and then met up with Sam at some bar that seemed a little off the beaten path for a college student, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if maybe Sam chose that one to be sure he wouldn't run into anyone he knew.

His doubts and concerns about Sam had been slowly diminished as the pair drank and shared stories. Dean was careful to keep all of his tales off the topic of John or Mary or their life as kids, not wanting to inadvertently alienate Sam, and instead regaled him with stories of his years with the Guenthers, being sure to not make it sound like a jibe at Sam when he mentioned the people who would've been Sam's parents too.

Sam for his part had shared some pretty interesting stories; apparently there was more to the Stanford student than designer labels and a too-clean apartment. Sam followed up Dean's broom-abuse story with one of his father getting them lost in hillbilly country on a trip to visit relatives in New Mexico.

"We stop at this gas station to ask for directions – a major concession on my dad's part, the man absolutely hates being wrong – and these two men come out with shotguns. My dad just sort of looks between them, and then turns, shoves me back in the car, and takes off as fast as he can. He was so sure they were going to chase him that he just took any turns he could find and ended up getting us _more_ lost. He stopped at this clinic he saw, thinking that maybe you know, since he's a doctor, him and whoever owns it would get along. We got there just as some woman was giving birth and I ended up eating hard candy in the waiting room for over an hour while my dad assisted."

"Did you ever make it to your family's place?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, the other doctor gave Dad directions and we got there just before they were getting ready to send out a search party." Sam looked at the beer he had just finished, and seemed to be contemplating something. He shook his head slightly and then turned to Dean again, who was watching him quizzically. "Three's my cutoff," he said by way of explanation.

Dean was pulled out of the happy, content state he had existed in for the past two hours, eyes darting to the clock to prove that it had really only been the two. Sam had pushed the bottle away and seemed about to leave. Dean didn't want him to go. While at the bar the two of them had been getting along, chatting, laughing, and he needed that. He needed some sort of connection to this Sam, to adult Sam who he still didn't really know. Ever since John had told him to find Sam, there had been a clock ticking in Dean's head, counting down from the illusive time when the demon would make its presence know and come for Sam. He found himself needing every minute, every second of the time before that happened to be with Sam. He needed to learn about his brother, to know him so well that he could anticipate Sam's actions and reactions, to know what he liked, what bothered him, what his life had been. That way, when everything came crashing down, when this house of cards that they had so painstakingly built over the years came down around Sam's head, Sam would trust him to help him.

How could John think that a stranger, a complete stranger, would believe any of their nonsense about demons and murder, and how could he expect that a stranger would trust either of them with his life?

Dean was panicking, his hands shaking, and fire filled his vision as he saw Sam reaching for his jacket. And apparently Sam noticed, because he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder, and through the hiss and crackling of flames, he heard Sam's voice, gently saying, "Hey man, are you okay? What's wrong?"

Sam's voice snapped Dean out of his fear. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he said, trying to shake off the after-effects of his miniature panic attack. "But hey, are those pool tables? Come on, Sam, let's play a round," Dean suggested, regaining some of his swagger and ego.

Sam glanced hesitantly at the billiard tables and then back at Dean. "Dean… I don't know, I told Jess I would be home sort of early and…"

"Oh come on, she'll understand. Besides, it's not like she needs to worry, you're with your brother, right?" Dean laughed, clapping Sam on the shoulder and making his way to the back of the bar, Sam following just behind him.

* * *

Sam didn't drink anymore after that third beer, and his goofiness began to subside slightly, but he did indulge Dean in over an hour or heavily concentrated pool playing. Sam was better at it than Dean expected, although Dean managed to beat him at every game. He thought about betting with the men at the next table over, two on two, but he wasn't sure if Sam would be okay with that, and decided not to push his luck.

At the end of the second game, Sam convinced Dean it was time to leave, and so the two walked out into the parking lot together. Dean watched as Sam wandered towards a red convertible with racing stripes and paused. "That your car?" he questioned.

"Yeah, just bought her a couple weeks ago," Sam responded with a smile. "You like her?"

Dean walked over, running his hands lightly over the hood. "It's nice. But a little new for my taste."

"It's a 2003," Sam shrugged. He had bought the car used, but the previous owner had taken good care of her.

"Yeah, mine's a 1967."

"What make?" Sam asked, following Dean over to the other end of the parking lot.

"Chevy Impala," Dean announced with pride, passing a beat up pick-up truck to reveal his pride and joy.

"Wow," Sam breathed, honestly impressed as he took in the sight of the car. "It's in such great condition, where did you find it?"

"Belonged to my mom – our mom," Dean said, pausing slightly before he specified the woman as Mary Winchester.

Sam froze, his hand hovering over the car where he had been about to touch it. "You know… I think I remember this," he said quietly after a moment, finally lowering his hand to rest on the roof. "Looks familiar anyway."

"Well it should, this car was like our home," Dean said with a smile. "After mom died we never really settled anywhere for good, and it was the one constant in our lives."

"I should go, it's late," Sam murmured, stepping away from the Impala and waving a goodbye to Dean before heading back to his car.

* * *

"Hey Bobby, it's John Winchester… Yeah, I'm going in California tomorrow and I need you to get my supplies ready… Right… I need enough for three… That's right, me and my two sons… they're in their twenties."

John was standing at a phone booth outside of the Sunoco station near the sanitarium where he had spent the last twenty years of his life. He had been released an hour ago, and was already preparing for what he would need to fight the demon when he arrived in California. He hoped Dean had already filled in Sam and was getting him ready for what was about to happen. The last thing he needed was to find out that Sam knew nothing about the demon, or his mother's murder or anything important.

He had been lucky enough to be assigned a doctor who hunted on his weekends, and he didn't mean deer or rabbit hunting, more like spirits and poltergeists. The man taught him everything he knew, and even gave him some field training, signing him out of the sanitarium and then back in after a couple days of rock salt and gunfire. It had been a pretty good set-up for him, room and board provided by the state and some free mentoring in the art of supernatural hunting. Of course the downside had been the lack of contact with his sons, but at least they had been well taken care of, and allowed him the freedom to do what he needed to do.

His 'doctor' had also given him contacts in the world of hunting, and one of the contacts, Bobby Singer, had agreed to collect the items he would need to go hunting fulltime. Mentally incompetent John Winchester buying shotguns would definitely send up a red-flag in the system. Bobby agreed to meet him in Palo Alto with the necessary items, and from there he would stock the trunk of Dean's Impala, and the truck he had waiting for him in California.

His plane left in four hours, but he needed to stop somewhere first.

* * *

John hadn't seen the Guenther house in twenty years. But he had to admit, not much had changed. The farmhouse's peeling yellow paint still needed a touch-up, and the fence around the front yard was still rotting. As he approached the porch, he heard sounds of talking from behind the screen door. He could make out Marty's deep voice and Ella's slightly panicky tone. The woman was wound so tight he was surprised she hadn't been killed by a heart attack long before now.

He rapped lightly on the door, and all sounds inside ceased. A chair creaked as someone got to their feet, and footsteps came towards him. Marty Guenther appeared behind the screen and completely froze as he saw John.

Marty had changed. He had less hair than the last time John saw him, and had grown a beer gut. Of course the last time he spoke to Marty he could barely see through the haze of anger that clouded his vision. Marty had expressed his concern over John selling his share of the garage, and buying the guns, and when John had tried to blow him off, Marty threatened to call social services on him and have his children taken away. He never believed Marty would actually do it, and he recognized that as one of his biggest mistakes. He knew now to always expect the worst in people.

Marty had visited him a couple of times in the sanitarium, told him about his plan to foster the boys until John was 'well'. He had refused to speak to Marty at all, except to shout obscenities at him, and eventually Marty stopped coming. One year after John had been institutionalized Marty came to see him again. They had one last drag-out argument and Marty left with the parting words "I hope you never get released."

Clearly Marty's hope had not been granted.

"Marty," John said slowly.

"John," Marty responded, unfreezing but still seeming incredibly uncomfortable. "They let you out?"

"Yes. Are you going to invite an old friend in, or are you just going to talk through the screen the whole time."

Marty seemed to contemplate if it was worth it to slam the storm door shut, and if it would really keep John out, but then thought better of it and slowly opened the screen door, stepping aside to allow John in.

Ella stood just beyond the living room that opened into the entryway, and as she looked at John her stomach dropped. She had thought he might be joking when he said he was being released. Really, who in their right mind would have let that man out? But there he was, in their living room, and there was nothing she could do to get rid of him, to neutralize the threat he posed to her family.

"They let you out," she said. It wasn't a question; it couldn't be, what with the evidence right in front of her.

"Marty and I have some things to discuss, Ella. So if you wouldn't mind going elsewhere?"

"I do mind," she stated defiantly.

"You've already told me everything she wanted to say," John said steadily, his hand rubbing against the bruise she had left on his face.

"Ella, let John and I have some time to talk," Marty suggested. Ella glared at John but then left the room. John looked over to see Marty standing toe-to-toe with him, built up to his full height as if posturing him; trying to intimidate him.

Well that was one thing that wasn't going to happen.

No one intimidated John Winchester.

* * *

"You took my sons from me." They had been sitting in uncomfortable silence for too long when John decided to break it with absolutely no grace or tact.

"John…" Marty began, heaving a sigh. "You needed help."

"You're right, I did," John answered, but his words were too smug to be completely sincere, and Marty could almost hear John's thoughts of 'but not the kind you thought.' "And I received the help I needed, and now I will be able to protect my boys." Marty decided not to respond and John's eyes flashed dangerously. "But whatever your motivation, you're responsible for the last twenty years that I spent without them."

"No John, _you're_ responsible for that!" Marty shouted, rising to his feet as his voice grew louder. "How dare you come into my house after all this time and toss around unfounded accusations!? All I ever did was try and help you! I told you John, remember I said that I was only going to be a foster parent to your boys, that after you got well you'd have them back, I never planned what happened, but I won't apologize for it either!" Receiving permanent custody of Dean was one of the best things that ever happened to Marty, and as much as it hurt John, he couldn't bring himself to feel much sympathy. After all, the man had his chance, and he wasted it.

" 'Foster' my kids! You couldn't wait to steal them from me! Giving me a couple hours notice before calling social services! We were supposed to be friends, Marty. We built that garage together from the ground up, our wives were friends, we were always around each other, and you thought I had a problem, so rather than come to me about it you called the feds? I would say you have a lot to apologize for!" The anger he had felt fester and grow for twenty years was finally finding its target; finally granted reprieve on the one person at the moment John felt really deserved it.

"You had your chance, John," Marty hissed, voice low. John was standing just in front of him now, leaning over him slightly, using his stature to intimidate Marty. Marty might not have been a Marine, but he saw his fair share of hatred and violence in the Vietnam during his time in the Army, and he'd be damned if he backed down or let John scare him. "You were released just a year after I called social services, and you could've gotten your boys back; the courts would have given Sam back to you too, but you just couldn't do things the right way. No, you're John Winchester and so you have to do everything your way!"

"Don't you throw that night back in my face!" John shouted angrily, towering over Marty, so enraged his vision flashed red as he fought to forget the night he made such a terrible mistake; the fear in his son's eyes – eyes that hadn't even recognized him!

"Why not, John? Is the truth just a little too hard to swallow? Well too bad! Do you really think Sam will want anything to do with you, Johnny?" Marty remained toe-to-toe with Winchester; not backing down, almost daring the other man to make a move against him; to use something other than his voice to attack him.

"That's none of your concern!" John felt his ire rise as he stared at Marty, and his hands clenched into fists. But he looked into Marty's eyes and didn't see the same burning anger reflected back at him, but the expression of a steadfast friend who had never intended to hurt him.

Then something else filled his mind and his emotions blurred. He remembered Sunday barbeques, Dean's three-year-old voice shouting gleefully 'Uncle Marty!,' long nights at the garage trying to get it established, cold beers and bars, his best buddy critiquing his pool-playing skills, all of those times they spent together that established Marty as his friend, as someone who had really only wanted to help him.

And he thought of himself at the time, the confused, bitter man who downed alcohol to forget the smell of burning flesh and the image of Mary's face twisted in wordless horror. He wondered what he would have done if he had been Marty, watching himself self-destruct and drag his kids down with him. He had pondered on it so many times over the years, but now, faced with the man himself, he couldn't help but understand – just a little – what could have driven his actions, how concern and worry could lead to the destruction of someone else's life just as easily as hatred and malice.

And so John backed down. He didn't forgive Marty, and he would never be his friend again, but he couldn't be too angry with him either. And that didn't sit right with John, he didn't like the ambiguity of not knowing what to think or how to act, and so he left.

* * *

**A/N: Please drop me a review! **

**Thanks for reading!**

**_-Ada_**


	7. Chapter 7

**_Last time, Sam and Dean got to know each other over beers, and when Sam saw the Impala he recognized it. John confronted Marty about calling Child Protective Services on him, and how he 'stole' Dean from him. John calls his friend Bobby, asking to meet in California with hunting gear._

* * *

** **House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 7

* * *

Marty watched John storm out of the house, the screen door crashing behind him and he deflated slightly, not needing to keep up the pretense of strength and intimidation. None of that mattered now, because in a way, John was right. Marty had taken an action that night, made the phone call, started everything. He never thought it would snowball, he never imagined that he wouldn't see John Winchester in his living room for another twenty years. 

But he had started the process that created this mess, and as much as he wanted to protect Dean, to keep him for himself, he couldn't begrudge John access to his own flesh and blood. Besides that, Dean was old enough to make his own decisions and they were all going to have to live with what he wanted.

But no matter what, the important thing was that John Winchester was most certainly on his way to California. Something was happening, and it didn't sit right with Marty to just let it go on while he remained oblivious. He hoped taking action wouldn't just push Dean further into John's world, but he wouldn't let his son slip through his fingers without doing anything either.

* * *

The next morning Sam and Jess rose early and went out to meet some of their friends for breakfast. Everyone was returning to Palo Alto in preparation for the new semester, and Jess and Sam had stayed the summer and so were anxious to reconnect with their friends for their final year of college. 

"Jess," Sam said slowly as they walked towards the diner they were meeting their friends at.

"Yeah?" she responded looking up at him. She had worn her simplest sundress, white with little red flowers, and once again Sam was stunned by her sheer beauty.

"Can we uh… can we keep this Dean thing between you and me?" he asked hesitantly. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to start grilling him on his mysterious brother's appearance in his life.

"Sure sweetie," Jess answered with a smile. "I can you're nervous just thinking about him," she added.

"Well you know Dean's just… and Dave and Karen don't even know I'm adopted so…"

"You just want to keep this a secret, got it," Jess said with a knowing smirk, cutting off Sam's stunted excuses. "Are you two going out again tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah… Dean likes bars and pool halls so it's not hard to find a place to go at least," Sam replied. Jess reached up and smoothed the collar on Sam's polo shirt unconsciously, as if she had done it a thousand times, nodding as he spoke.

As he was finishing they reached the door of the cheery little diner and Sam pushed it open, motioning for Jess to enter in front of him. "Bout time!" a voice called from the corner. Sam looked over to spot Dave, Jess' friend from the psychology department waving from a back booth. Dave was the sort of guy who always left just enough facial hair when shaving to achieve that rugged look some girls found sexy, and wore his muscle tanks just a little tighter than necessary to showcase his muscular frame.

"Hey Dave," Jess smiled, sliding into the booth next to him, Sam did the same, and was met with greetings from Pete, Sam's freshman year roommate, and Karen, a fellow pre-law student who spent countless library hours with Sam during midterms and finals, drinking coffee and trying not to go crazy from the stress.

She was currently eyeing Dave in a very predatory way, slowly raising a cup to her lips though seeming uninterested in the actual action of drinking.

They were chatting as they waited for their food, discussing classes they were taking and the events of senior year that they needed to think about. Karen shared her fears over the LSATS – a test that had Sam's stomach churning uncomfortably, and then Dave changed the conversation to some new TV show he had been watching reruns of over the summer.

"The show's about this writer dude who comes across a bunch of ghosts and has to protect himself against them. And can you believe what he uses – salt! Hah, it's so ridiculous."

"Well you know, salt is supposed to be purifying. You even see it in sumo matches…" Karen began to explain, but Sam's mind was somewhere else, lost in a memory he had long ago forgotten.

_"Dean, check all the salt lines, make sure there are no breaks. We don't want anything getting in here…"_

_"Yes sir." A blonde boy jumped off a bed with a green blanket and wandered around it, staring intently at the ground where a circle of salt had been poured._

"Sam?" Jess asked, poking him in the ribs. He shook his head suddenly, losing grip of the memory and turned to Jess. "You okay? You went off to la-la-land for a minute there."

"Yeah, just, you know, tired…"

"Tired already? The semester hasn't even started! And we're going to be so busy with exams and preparing for law school," Karen pointed out.

"Do you have to remind me?" he asked with a grimace. "I've already been doing practices in those LSAT prep books."

"That's right, today is not about reminding me how little I'm going to see of Sam once the semester starts," Jess said firmly.

"It's always about you, isn't it Jessy?" Dave asked with a smirk.

"That's right. Topic change, please." The waitress arrived and there was a lull in conversation as she laid the plates of food out.

"So… my little sister is pregnant," Pete announced unhappily.

"What? When did that happen?"

"She's about three months along," Pete sighed. "The father's this public-school assface she met at that godawful coffee shop all of the kids hang out at. Of course he disappeared as soon as the test came back positive."

"Oh wow. What's she going to do?" Karen questioned, furrowing her brown eyebrows as she surveyed Pete.

"Well she's asked Princeton to put off her enrollment for a semester, and she's thinking about adoption." Pete's eyes swung to Sam who tried his best not to look like the term 'adoption' appealed to him for any personal reason.

Pete had found out about Sam's family situation during their second semester when he met Patty and Dan and offhandedly remarked that they looked nothing alike. For reasons that eluded Sam, Patty liked to talk about how she adopted Sam and how great it all was, while Sam really preferred to keep that to himself. Of course that particular decision might now be coming back to bite him in the ass if anyone found out about Dean.

"Adoption?" Karen said, and she made it sound dirty. "Has she thought about abortion?"

"You'd prefer she kill the baby rather than give it away?" Jessica asked, disgusted. She wasn't against abortion, but didn't like to see it used as a late birth control method for reckless couples.

"Well I'm just saying… I mean how does she know what kind of people she'd be just giving her kid away to?"

"There are plenty of wonderful couples out there looking to adopt. Not every adoption is like an episode of "Judging Amy," Karen," Jessica sneered. Dave stared at her, surprised at the vehemence with which she was defending adoption. Jessica rarely got riled about any social issue, choosing to see both sides, but on this she seemed firm.

"Well how many good families are out there versus how many bad families?"

"This isn't the foster care system, if she's going to put the kid up for adoption it's adoption," Pete pointed out. "I just… I'm worried about the effect on the kid, you know? Like, growing up with people who don't look like you, and not knowing what diseases run in your family and having to explain that you've been adopted. Not to mention – how would the kid feel if it eventually tracked her down and met a bunch of half-siblings who got to grow up with her while it was given up." He cast another glance at Sam, whose mind was running with his first impression of Dean, standing on the other side of the door, announcing he was his brother. "Sam – what do you think?" Pete said plainly, clearly tired of hinting to Sam that he wanted his input.

"Well it's her decision isn't it?" Sam responded evasively, taking a bite of his pancakes as he did.

"I guess," Pete said with disappointment, he wished Sam would have given him a straight answer.

"Would your parents be willing to raise the baby?" Jess asked, taking Pete's attention off of Sam.

"I don't know, they haven't really said anything. But I doubt they'd want to, you know? Carey – my older sister – she's considering taking in the kid though, but I don't know, something tells me that Sharon just wants to be done with the kid."

"Well if that's her attitude maybe adoption really is the best course," Jess sighed. "But I don't envy her having to make a decision like that," she sighed. "And see, the guy doesn't even have to deal with it, that's what I hate about the whole thing. It's always the woman who's stuck with the difficult decisions.

"Okay, no offense Pete, but this is just a way too serious discussion for breakfast," Dave smirked. "So, in the interest of lightness, let me tell you all about my new plasma TV…"

* * *

"So what do you and Dean talk about exactly?" Jess asked. Sam was changing his shirt, not feeling like wearing a Polo to go drinking, and Jess had put on jeans and a T-shirt as she was going to her parent's house for dinner and didn't feel like looking too done up. 

"I don't know… stuff… We're basically trying to get to know each other. He wants us to be immediate best friends you know, but it's going to take me a little while to get there…"

"He seemed nice though. To come all the way out here just to see you?"

"I know but… there's just something… I think he's hiding something from me. Sometimes it seems like he's just about to tell me why he's really here and then he shuts down and keeps it to himself. I mean really, who knows, maybe all this 'brotherly bonding' is just because he needs a kidney or something…"

"Well I don't know what to tell you Sam, except that you'll just have to find out. Besides, you don't really know Dean well enough yet to know if he's lying to you, or here for some sort of selfish interest," she pointed out.

"He was… that first day he came over… he told me about how my parents found out about me…" Sam began hesitantly.

Jess looked up abruptly at Sam from where she sat on the bed. This was certainly news to her. "What'd he say?"

"Apparently our first foster home wasn't that great… Dean said the 'parents' would shut the younger kids up behind a wall while the older ones were in school."

Jess looked positively horrified. "But that didn't… to you…"

"If he's telling the truth then yeah, it did happen to me. He said he didn't find out about it until we'd been there a while, and then he confronted the foster parents and they hit him and then hit me. I guess Dean grabbed me then and just took off. He was worried about me though and went to the ER, and Dad was working that night, so…"

"Wow…" Jess breathed, looking away, not really sure what to say. Blonde hair swishing she turned to look at Sam again, who seemed to find the opposite wall incredibly interesting at the moment. She stood, approaching him from behind and putting her arms around him, pressing her body against hers. He relaxed to her touch and stood there in silence for a moment before breaking the embrace and facing her.

"It's just… he felt really guilty about it, like it was his fault we got split up or something. And when he says stuff like that I don't know what to do. Because… if I agree with him then it's like saying that I don't like the way my life turned out when I really do. Who knows where I would be if I ended up staying in Kansas?"

"I'm sure Dean understands that, Sam," Jess said simply. "I mean he sounds like he was a good big brother, and if that's true, then he must have wanted what was best for you. Maybe it's going to take him a little while to realize that what was best for you was exactly what happened."

"I guess…" Sam seemed hesitant to accept this theory.

"But you have to cut him some slack too. You don't remember the separation but he does. It must've been really hard on him; having you taken away from him like that."

"Yeah but I still can't shake this feeling that… that him coming just set something into motion… I can't help but think that something bad is going to happen…"

* * *

**A/N: This chapter would've been way too long if I included the next scene with segues into the scene after that, so I just cut it off here.**

**Please let me know what you thought!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**_Ada_**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This story has taken on a life of its own, even I didn't see this coming...**

**Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.**

* * *

**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 8

* * *

_"John's out, Dean,"_ Ella said, her voice sounding strained over the phone.

_"How do you know that?"_ Dean asked. He was sitting in his motel room, idly flicking channels while waiting for the clock to near '10' so he could go meet with Sam. It was almost time to leave and he was almost annoyed to receive a call from his mother. Besides, wasn't it later in Kansas than it was in California?

_"He came to visit your father. They had an argument. I'm pretty sure he's heading for California. You're… you're going to need to tell Sam about him before he shows up, don't you think?"_

"Oh yeah 'hey Sam, guess what? Our dad, who, incidentally, has really been locked up in a nuthouse for the past twenty years is coming down for a little visit. I hope you guys become best buddies.' That'll go over real well," Dean groaned.

_"Dean… there's something you should know about Sam and your father… I would've told you sooner, but I…"_

"Hold that thought, Mom, I've got a call on the other line." He hit the 'talk' button on his phone to switch to the other call and answered it in a decidedly not cheerful voice, "Hello?"

_"Dean,"_ John's gruff voice said in response.

"Dad? Hi… I heard that you're out…" Dean trailed off uncomfortably. He hadn't done one thing that John had asked him to when he sent him out to California – well except the part where he met Sam, but other than that he hadn't accomplished anything, and he was just waiting for John to point that out.

_"I'm in California. I'm getting some supplies and I should be in Palo Alto tomorrow afternoon."_

Dean felt his stomach lurch. John was so close, so _close_ and he wasn't ready, not at all. "Tomorrow?" he finally choked out.

_"Yes," _John replied tersely. _"How're things there? Have you found Sam?"_

"Uh, yeah, I've talked to him."

_"And he's up to speed on everything?"_ his tone carried a hint of accusation.

"Actually I was… planning on uh… telling him tonight…" Dean stammered, wondering why John could still make him feel like a disobedient child. He had done what he wanted regardless of what John had to say for the past twenty years, there was no reason that he should be so intimidated now. _He was never out before,_ a stubborn part of Dean's brain pointed out, and Dean had to admit that could be the cause of his sudden regression. Whereas before his father had been locked away, unable to actually do much himself, and Dean could disobey and say what he wanted, trusting his father would still be there the next day, now John could do whatever he wanted. John paused before he responded, and Dean found himself counting the seconds, not sure if he wanted to hear what his father had to say.

_"Be sure you do, Dean. This is important. There are some signs that could mean the demon's coming closer. Your brother needs to be ready."_

"Yes, sir," Dean replied instantly. "But still… I'm worried he won't believe me," he admitted, he wouldn't let John push him around _too _much.

_"Well he'll believe eventually. This'll at least give us a chance to get him on our side first."_

"Our side? What are you talking about? The demon's going to try and kill Sam – right?"

_"Listen, I have to go. I'll be in touch though."_

"Dad wait, answer me!" Silence met his words, John had already ended the call. "Dammit! What the hell did he mean?!" Dean glanced at the clock and cursed as he realized he was late to meet Sam. Forgetting that his mother was waiting to tell him something important, he closed his cell phone and ran out the door.

* * *

Sam had made up his mind to humor Dean as much as possible tonight. After talking to Jess about Dean, and the things she had said to him, he figured he just might owe his brother that much.

He arrived before Dean this time, drenched from the rainstorm that had begun just before he left, and sat at the bar waiting for him, wondering what they were going to talk about, Jess' words to him as he walked out still running through his mind, _'But Sam… don't you __**want**__ to know about your family? Don't you think you ought to find out now? After all, they link you and Dean together, right?'_ Of course Jess didn't know why the mere thought of John Winchester made Sam shudder and feel as if he couldn't breathe, Sam had never told her about that, had never told anyone about it. He idly wondered if even Dean knew about what happened back in Kansas. Of course Sam couldn't really remember what John looked like, what he sounded like; all he knew was a memory of a dark figure and fear – so much fear.

* * *

Sam was sitting at the bar, tapping his fingers against a full beer bottle that he bought out of habit, when Dean arrived. Dean cast a nervous glance at Sam, a leather-bound book clasped tightly in his hands and a well of regret within him. _I am so sorry that I have to tell you this, Sammy…_

He approached Sam, who turned to face him when he was within two feet of his brother. "Hey," Sam greeted brightly.

"…Hi…" Dean replied hesitantly. He glanced around, the bar was loud, too loud for the conversation he had to have with Sam.

Sighing, he looked up into his brother's face; a face he had once known as well as his own, and that now had become so different. He might be a Winchester, and Dean could see it more than just in physical resemblance, he could tell by the guarded way Sam carried himself, the intimidating nature of his posture, the way he talked, the way he laughed, all of that was part of Dean and John and Mary, part of their family, whether Sam would ever realize it or not, but Sam was different. He didn't know what Dean knew, he didn't remember what Dean remembered. Sam didn't sometimes wake up to the sound of crackling flames ringing in his ears, choking against the acrid smoke of burned flesh and feeling the heat of the fire that claimed his mother. How could he? He was too young to remember. Sam had been too young throughout everything that happened to be able to remember any of it. And Dean knew that in that moment he would give anything, do anything, to not have to tell Sam, to not have to watch as the last of his naiveté and innocence was drained away. But he had to, because a jaded Sam was better than a dead Sam, and he firmly held to that belief. Besides, he would be there, he would let Sam react whatever way he needed to, and he would be there whether Sam wanted him or not, because he would never leave Sam alone to face that sort of danger, not ever.

"Look Sam, I need to talk to you. Can we go someplace quieter?"

Sam had looked confused, even a little suspicious, and he eyed Dean up and down as if trying to decide how much of a threat he posed before agreeing. And so Dean found himself driving the Impala, Sam riding shotgun, and he couldn't help but think that nothing had ever seemed so right before than the two of them in that car together.

* * *

He drove to the hotel, silence hanging in the air between himself and Sam as they entered the small hotel room. "What's going on?" Sam asked as he sat down in the desk chair, leaving Dean to perch on the edge of the bed, absently fingering the blanket as he tried to find the words for what he had to say. He decided that starting at the beginning was probably the best tactic.

"Sam… when you were a baby… our mom – Mary Winchester – died," he began slowly.

"Yeah, I know that," Sam responded. Dean seemed to be struggling with his words, so Sam asked him a question, tried to get him going so he could find out what Dean was hiding from him. "How did she die anyway?"

Dean closed his eyes and wished that he could just lie and move on, but he needed to tell the truth, Sam deserved to know the truth. "She died in a fire… in your nursery…" Sam seemed surprised by that, and Dean thought it was probably valid, Sam had been there when the fire started, and he made it out alive but his mother hadn't. That had to elicit some reaction.

"What? How did that happen, how did the fire start?"

"That's the million dollar question right there Sammy," Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hands. He had heard this story so many times in his life that he couldn't believe how difficult it was to tell it to someone else. "Dad heard her scream and so he went up to your nursery and when he did…" he choked a little and looked anywhere but at Sam's face. "…she was on the ceiling, the _ceiling_," he said finally, trying to erase the image his mind had drawn for him long ago of his mother, his beautiful wonderful _mom_ pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and in pain, probably knowing that she was about to die, taking who knew how many secrets to the grave with her.

"Wait… what?" Sam demanded.

"It's true, she was pinned to the ceiling with a big gash on her stomach and the blood… the blood dripped down into your crib…" Dean felt sick, he never thought of it like that before, the fact that Mary had died _above _Sam, that her blood on fallen _on _Sam. How did they not realize all this time that the demon was really going for Sam, why else would it have killed Mary like that?

"What?" Sam said again, and when Dean took it for one more denial he missed realizing why Sam kept saying it. He didn't know that Sam was seeing his nightmares in his mind again, reliving the image of the woman trapped on the ceiling above him, remembering how her blood felt when it dripped on his head…

"And then a fire broke out from behind her…" Dean almost whispered, lost in his own recollections, the way his father's voice always broke on that line.

Sam for his part was in shock, mouth hanging open, unable to respond. And in his mind the man on the floor screamed "Mary!" over and over as she burned on the ceiling.

"What… what did she look like?" Sam finally choked out. Dean glanced at him sharply, confused at the seemingly random question, and disheartened that his brother had no idea what their mother looked like. However, when he pulled out a photo of the family standing before the house from his wallet, and said, "This is one of our last family photos before the fire, there's Mom, Dad, me, and you" he wasn't ready for Sam to rip it out of his hands, to stare at it in abject horror and then drop it as if it burned him, scurrying across the room as far from Dean as he could get.

"Sam?" Dean asked softly. His brother stood in the far corner, staring at Dean with fear in his wide eyes. "I… what's…"

"You're crazy… that… that isn't possible… what could do that?" Sam shouted at him.

"Dad says it was a demon," Dean offered.

"John Winchester is insane!" Sam yelled, trying so hard to forget what Dean said, to chalk it up to madness and not think about how he watched it happen in his nightmares almost every night, trying not to recognize Mary and John as the people in his dreams, trying not to speculate on how that could be, trying not to think at _all._ "You're crazy too! This is why you came?!"

"The demon's coming Sam… we need to be prepared!" Dean stood and took a step towards Sam who shrank back against the wall.

"What the hell are you talking about?! There's no such thing as demons!"

"Sam… You have to believe me…" Dean said desperately, and after that he just began talking. He told Sam about the three years before they were separated, about sulfur and salt lines; shotguns and silver bullets, Latin chants and exorcisms where the victim's body writhed and gagged beneath restraints. He talked, his voice monotone as he tried not to think about how he had never told anyone this before, how so many of these words had never once passed through his lips, and he recalled nights spent at seedy motels while John met with Daniel Elkins, times huddled in the Impala waiting for the return of his father, who had loaded up on bullets and salt before leaving. He spoke about what his father discovered about the demon, about fire and blood and sacrifice and the newspaper articles that described the exact same conditions without realizing it, things like 'electrical fire,' 'faulty wiring in nursery,' '6-month old baby,' 'fire so intense it blew out the windows.'

Through it all Sam leaned against the wall, his hands alternately rising and falling, as if he couldn't decide if he needed to defend himself or not. However, his jaw remained tight, and Dean wasn't sure if he believed any of it, even a little bit, and all he could think to do when he was done was to end it was to reach out to Sam in a conciliatory gesture and say, "You have to believe me."

"Get away from me!" he yelled, slapping Dean's hands away and heading for the door.

"Sam wait!" Dean cried as his brother hurtled towards the exit, throwing it open and running out into the rain. Dean followed him after a moment's hesitation – a hesitation which was long enough to lose Sam in the dark parking lot. Damn could he run… "Sam!" Dean screamed out, knowing it was futile to call out to him. Sam would never hear him over the rain, and if he had wanted to stay and talk to Dean he wouldn't have run out of that place like someone had tried to kill him.

Dean collapsed on the bed, his head in his hands. Out of all of the ways he imagined that conversation going, the way it actually happened had to have been the absolute worst way. How the hell was he going to salvage this now?

* * *

Jess was on the couch when Sam walked in, completely drenched from running back to the bar for his car in the sudden monsoon.

"Sam? What're you doing back so early?" she asked, turning off _Lifetime_ and approaching him. "Sam you're soaking wet! What happened?" she asked, pulling at his shirt, trying to get the offending wet article off of his skin.

"I… nothing happened…" Sam said hesitantly. He considered telling Jess the truth, it was almost out of his mouth when suddenly the lie came out instead. Jess would think he was crazy if she knew what had been happening, if she knew the woman in the nightmares was his mother, if she knew that his father had been institutionalized for claiming that a demon murdered his wife, that Dean believed that too. And maybe he was crazy – mental illness could be genetic after all…

Jess wasn't fooled by his response, knowing that something terrible had to have happened for Sam to be in such a state, he was even trembling.

"I just want to go to sleep," Sam said quietly. "Can we just go to bed?"

"You need to take a shower first, clean off all that rainwater," Jess suggested. Sam grudgingly agreed, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving Jess to panic over what could have possibly occurred between Sam and Dean that night.

* * *

_He dreamed of fire again. _

_The stench of burning flesh met his nostrils as he appeared in the dream halfway through, the woman already engulfed in flames, and the man lying on the floor staring up at her in horror. The fire flickered in front of her face, masking the frozen expression of fear that was permanently etched on her visage. She might have been pretty, Sam could never really tell, he always saw her the same way, pinned to the ceiling and bleeding, and it was hard to make out someone's attractive quality when they were suffering so. _

_He waited patiently for the dream to end, knowing he should want it to go further, should want to know more, but unable to stand the smell, the heat, the fire any longer._

_But even as he reminded himself he was dreaming, even as he tried to force himself to wake, it made no difference, and the dream continued. Suddenly the man stood, seeming resolute and reaching towards the cradle. Somewhere over the sound of crackling fire came a high-pitched voice calling out to the man. Not missing a beat, he scooped the baby up in his arms and pressed him into the small hold of a blonde child Sam had never seen in the nightmare before. _

_"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now Dean! Go!" _

Sam jerked awake, panting. He sat upright in bed, hand clutched to his chest and the words the man shouted spinning over and over in his mind.

"_Now Dean! Go!"_

Dean… the boy's name was Dean. Instantly an image of the cocky man he'd come to know as his biological brother popped into Sam's mind and he pushed it away. Surely there were a lot of Deans in the world. And besides, it wasn't as if his nightmares were real, they were just figments of his apparently deranged imagination, no matter what the people looked like. He conjured his mother and father, so why not a little boy and named for his brother? It must've been his subconscious' way of responding to Dean being on his mind, to Dean's crazy stories and insanity – nothing more. And as for Mary… well he must've remembered a picture of her, remembered one of his father's insane stories and then constructed the nightmare around it, that was all.

Because nightmares were just that – nightmares.

They were not real.

He rolled onto his side and pulled Jess into his arms. She murmured something in her sleep and then relaxed into his touch, her face against his chest. He sighed, trying to erase the taste of ash from his mouth as he closed his eyes and wished for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_His eyes were closed and he felt relaxed, peaceful. Something dripped onto his forehead, and his shook his head against it without opening his eyes. Another drip and he was becoming irritated. A third and he decided to find the cause of the leak. Sighing, he opened his eyes and stared above him. _

_His mouth opened in surprise as his eyes locked with two blue irises above him. Jess, dressed in white with a slash of blood across her abdomen was pinned to the ceiling above him. She looked like a beautiful butterfly trapped behind glass, limbs awkwardly splayed and unmoving. Her mouth was open, as if she were screaming, but no sound came out, there was no sound in the whole room except for the roaring of blood pounding in Sam's ears. _

_Sam regained his voice and shouted in denial, "No! Jess, no!" Then flames burst from behind her, a glowing backdrop of horror and Sam kept shouting as they engulfed her and all he could see was her face, and he couldn't move, he could barely breathe. Their eyes were locked on to each other's and he saw the pain in hers just before the flames completely covered her._

"Jess!" Sam screamed, jackknifing in bed, sweating, tears stinging his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Jess asked groggily from beside him.

"Oh thank God," Sam cried, pulling her into his arms and kissing her face, her neck, any part of her he could find to touch.

"Sam, what's going on? Sam!" Jess shouted, pulling out of his grip. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing I just… I had a nightmare… just a nightmare."

"Oh baby, it's okay. It wasn't real," Jess said comfortingly, sounding half-asleep and sure to drift off again soon, hugging him and allowing him to rock her slightly as he clung to her desperately.

It was just a dream.

Dreams aren't real.

And just as he was beginning to convince himself that it was just a dream and nothing more, just as he thought he might actually be able to fall asleep, Dean's words echoed in his head and had him panicking.

_'She died in a fire… in your nursery…'_

_Fire licking blonde hair above a cradle while the baby shrieked and the father stared in horror. _

_'Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now Dean, Go!'_

_'This is one of our last family photos before the fire, there's Mom, Dad, me, and you.'_

_'Mary!' _

Sam haphazardly let go of Jess and stumbled off the bed, his legs shaking as his feet hit the floor, barely able to hold his weight. He staggered out of the room, while behind him Jess rolled over, searching for Sam even in her sleep and finding nothing but an empty impression in the sheets.

Bracing himself against the wall and trying hard to swallow against the bile that had risen in his throat from this horrible assumption, this terrible idea. He fell as he reached the bathroom door, crawling across the cold tile to the toilet where he retched and cried and told himself over and over that it was just a dream.

* * *

**A/N: If you don't review then how will I know that anybody actually wants me to update?**

**Thanks for reading,**

**_Ada_**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:This story has really taken on a life of its own, creating twists and turns I didn't even see coming. Well anyway, enjoy chapter 9!**

**Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.**

* * *

**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 9

* * *

_'Not safe. Not safe. She's not safe.'_

The voice repeated the same words over and over in Sam's head, each syllable punctuated by an agonizing throb to his temple. Sam was still in the bathroom, sitting on the cool tile, his back up against the wall next to the shower. Legs drawn up against his chest and arms hugging them protectively, he tried to block out the voice, because it didn't sound like him, and though he had heard it before – when the migraines were really bad – he knew he really shouldn't be hearing anyone else's voice like that.

'_She's gonna burn.'_

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Sam whispered. A flare of pain lanced through his head and he reflexively clutched his head in his hands. White danced across his vision, his eyes slid shut and behind them was Jessica pinned to the ceiling. She stared at him in horror and something that might have been accusation before the flames blossomed from behind her and she disappeared behind the smoke and the fire, ash raining down on him where he lay stunned against a bed – his bed.

He gasped as his eyes finally obeyed his command to open and he was left staring at the dark wall of the bathroom, shaking and sweating, his head throbbing terribly. He leaned over the toilet and vomited again, the voice taunting him. _'She's gonna burn and there's nothing you can do about it. It's all Dean's fault though, isn't it? Dean's here and now Jessie's gonna burn!'_

_

* * *

_

Dean hadn't been able to sleep well that night, running his conversation with Sam over and over in his head, and finally noticing the deviations from what he would have considered normal responses, the moments where Sam's reactions had seemed off. Like when he asked what their mom looked like, when he ripped the picture out of Dean's hands and then tossed it, cowering in the corner. He had expected the refusal to believe Dean's words, the 'you're crazy!' accusations, maybe even the running out of the hotel room, but not in the manner which Sam did it. He wasn't expecting the fear, the flicker of something like belief in Sam's eyes, the way his accusations and denials seemed shaky, not strong enough.

Sam hadn't completely believed what Dean told him, but it was clear that some of it he _had _believed; had maybe even _known._ And it scared him, Dean knew that much, he just needed to work out why.

It was still early in the morning around 2am when he heard the rumble of an engine just outside his motel room, the glare of headlights through the thin curtains blinding him for a minute. Someone hurried through the parking lot, he could hear their footsteps on the wet pavement and then there was an insistent knocking on his door.

Dean could barely believe it, and scrambled from the bed to the door, pulling it open to reveal his shaking and scared little brother. There was pain in the eyes that gazed at Dean, and it cut him to the core, he pulled Sam into the room, peering into the parking lot for a moment, searching for who might have frightened Sam so, and then slamming it shut and locking it.

"What happened?" he asked Sam who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, eyes gazing at the floor and clouded. "Sam!" Dean said insistently, leading him to the bed and forcing him to sit down before grasping his chin and forcing Sam to look at him.

"Tell me it isn't true," Sam whispered.

"What?" Dean questioned, frightened himself now by the way Sam was acting. What could possibly have happened to him in the hours they were apart? He knew he should have tried to track him down after he ran from the hotel, he should have found him, made sure he was okay, made sure he got home okay… if something happened to him because Dean was too upset to follow him then he would never forgive himself…

"Tell me it isn't true!" Sam shouted this time, pushing Dean away from him and standing. He paced in the corner, eyes darting back and forth, as if seeing things that Dean could not.

"Tell you what isn't true? Sam? What are you talking about?"

"She couldn't have died like that Dean. She couldn't have!"

"Are you talking about Mom?" Dean asked.

"You're a liar. I don't know who told you about the nightmares, but whoever it is… I'm going to make them pay, I swear to God. And how dare you come into **my **life and try to make me believe this shit! It isn't real, Dean, it never has been. So why the hell would you come here and try to make me thing it is, try to make me go crazy?"

"Nightmares? Sam, I don't understand what you're talking about! Nobody told me anything, I'm not trying to make you think you're crazy. Just please – calm down and tell me what's happening!" Dean approached Sam slowly, his brother's actions reminding him of a wounded animal, any sudden movement could set him off running again, and Dean needed to keep him here, needed to find out what the hell happened, what made that self-assured guy who he met turn into this lunatic. His hand hovered, just about to rest on Sam's shoulder when Sam shoved him away, knocking him backwards with more strength than Dean had expected.

"Are you even really my brother?" Sam sneered. "Or was that a lie too? I don't know what you want; why you came here, but I know one thing – I want you gone. _Now._" Jessica burning flashed in his mind again and he knew with conviction that Dean had to go, had to _leave_, because the dream had never been about her, not until now, not until Dean, and that meant Dean was a threat. He wouldn't allow Dean or whatever Dean brought with him to threaten Jessica; to hurt her, and he would do whatever he could to protect her.

"God Sam what the hell has gotten into you?! Of course I'm really your brother, and I'm here to help you, so would you calm down for one goddamn second and tell me what the hell is going on in that freaky head of yours?!" Nothing was making sense to Dean, and he felt like he'd walked into a scene towards the end of a long movie, completely unaware of all of the plot twists that occurred and what the plot was now.

Calming down did not seem high on Sam's priority list, but his energy did appear to be waning. The shaking had subsided to trembling, and his forehead glistened with sweat. He winced, and brought a hand up to his head, the same motion he made the day before when a migraine had manifested. Instead of curling into himself however, Sam just pulled his hand away angrily and focused bloodshot eyes on Dean, glaring at him with all he had. "Stay out of my life," he hissed before turning and leaving the room.

Dean stood dumbstruck as the door remained open and Sam took off in his sport's car, the lights fading into the distance. The rain had ended already, and as Dean walked over to close the door the sky lit up suddenly with lightning; and that storm lasted well into the morning.

* * *

He was driving back to the apartment when it hit him, how incredibly stupid he had been. Confronting Dean had seemed like the right thing, the best thing, but he had left Jess alone. How could he have left Jess alone? He tried to think of the dream, where had it taken place? He was pretty sure he had been on a bed, right? His bed? The apartment? Did he leave Jess alone in the apartment where he dreamed of her burning on the ceiling? 

_'Not safe, not safe,'_ a voice whispered in his head, and a lance of pain ripped through his skull. It was the same, the same male voice he heard after the nightmare. The one that reminded him that Dean started all of this, that Dean was a threat. It had spoken to him in the motel, it told him the truth.

Maybe if his head wasn't throbbing so badly and the image of Jess burning alive wasn't filling his vision he would have realized that listening to a voice in his head was crazy, was ridiculous. But all he could see was Jess and all he could feel was fear; fear of Dean, fear for Jess, fear for himself.

The rest of the drive took place at breakneck speeds, and he slammed on the breaks when he turned into the parking garage. Long legs carried him up the stairs, two at a time, as he ran to the apartment. _Be okay, be okay,_ Sam thought over and over as he threw the door open and raced in. "Jess!" he shouted. "Jess where are you?!"

"Sam?" Jess muttered, standing bleary-eyed in the doorway to the bedroom. Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he saw here standing there, whole and alive and annoyed at waking up to an empty bed. "Where did you go?" she asked.

"We have to go!" he said hastily, pushing past her into the bedroom. He grabbed a suitcase from the closet and began filling it with clothes and medicine bottles and anything they would need for a short trip away.

"Sam what is going on?" Jess demanded, and she didn't sound tired and drowsy now. She sounded awake and worried and irritated. "Did something happen?" she asked, trying to follow him as he flitted around the room tossing things into the suitcase.

"Get dressed! We have to go!" he shouted, throwing the clothes she had left folded in the corner at her.

She caught them but did not remove her eyes from Sam's face, staring at him with fear. "Sam, what happened? Why do we have to leave?" she asked, swallowing hard.

Sam paused, stared back at her, tried not to see her features twisting into a pained expression, tried not to see flames sprout from behind her, and responded evenly, "I can't explain it right now. But we have to leave, we aren't safe here."

Something like terror flashed in Jess' eyes, and Sam did not have time to think on that, to figure out what was terrifying her, because he was already packing the last of their things, and Jess was standing there, fully dressed, eyes trained on him and he hoped that if he just kept her close no one could hurt her.

* * *

Sam's hands shook uncontrollably, the key missing the lock again and again as he tried in vain to open the door. Light feminine fingers wrapped around his large hand and took the key from him, sliding it effortlessly into the lock and opening the door. Sam stumbled in, eyes latched on Jessica's frightened face as he closed the door behind him. He hadn't been able to think of anywhere else to go; couldn't decide if he should go for a hotel room or leave California altogether, but the continuing migraine had convinced him that he had to stop before he crashed the car and Jessica got hurt. So, for the second time in one week, he found himself at his parents' house. 

It was early yet, and he wasn't sure if they had heard him come in.

* * *

Dan Jacobs heard the whine of the hinges as the front door slid open. Glancing at the clock – 3:50 am, not exactly a time for visitors – he listened closely for more sounds. Under the sound of his wife's quiet snores, two sets of footsteps walked slowly through the foyer. Whoever had broken in did a good job of it, Dan didn't hear any breaking glass, maybe they picked the lock. He reached silently for the rifle he kept under his bed, one he used for deer hunting with his brother in the on-season. The bullets were in the nightstand, but he didn't grab them, knowing that more people were actually killed by their own gun than anything. The people in his house seemed hesitant, maybe just some stupid neighborhood kids, he could probably just scare them away. 

Slipping from the bedroom, he padded into the dark hallway and down the stairs, seeing two indistinct forms coming towards him. "Stop!" he shouted, reaching for the light switch and flicking it quickly, bathing the whole area in an electric glow.

Dan blinked away the spots in his vision and finally realized who was standing there. "Sam?" Dan said in relief as he spotted his only child standing in the entryway, Jessica at his side. He lowered the rifle in his hands immediately. "What are you doing here?"

"Needed to go someplace safe," Sam muttered, not quite meeting his father's eye.

'_He's not going to believe you,'_ the voice hissed.

"Safe? Sam, what's going on, are you alright, son?" Dan asked with concern, gray hair mussed from sleep as he approached Sam. Sam shrank back from him.

"Yeah… yeah I'm okay… I just… I'm just going to go upstairs okay? Go back to sleep, Dad," Sam said, his voice shaking slightly. Dan cast a worried glance at Jessica who shrugged subtly, and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Dan stepped aside, watching them walk up the stairs and hoping Sam would be in the mood to explain himself in the morning.

* * *

Jessica was the first to descend the stairs in the morning, meeting Dan and Patty's twin gazes of worry as she entered the kitchen. They didn't even give her a chance to reach for the full coffee pot before asking questions. 

"Jess honey, what's wrong with Sam, why are you two here?" Patty questioned immediately.

"I honestly don't know," Jess said, her voice quavering. Sam had been up half the night mumbling to himself in the dark and had dropped into a fitful sleep a few hours ago. He had never behaved that way and she was terrified. She tried to reassure herself, think that once Sam had some sleep he'd feel better, that maybe Dean was into drugs and gave Sam something and that was why he was behaving so oddly.

"He said he needed to come someplace safe, do you know what he meant?" Dan asked.

"I have no idea. He was totally fine until last night, he came home and he was clearly freaking out. We went to bed and then he slipped out at some point and left, I woke up to find him gone and then he came home and started raving about how we needed to pack up and leave the apartment immediately," Jessica explained.

"Where was he before he came home the first time?" Patty pounced on that bit of information.

"He was out with Dean," Jessica said. A moment later she was reconsidering her words. Sam had asked her to keep Dean a secret, but with him acting so strangely, perhaps his parents deserved to know exactly what was going on. She was pretty sure she couldn't handle all of this on her own anyway.

"Dean who?" Dan asked, looking up sharply.

"Uh… his brother… Dean Winchester."

They both exchanged frightened glances, and Jessica poured herself a cup of coffee, knowing that it was going to be a long morning.

* * *

"…cow mutilation and most notably, electrical storms have all been leading towards Palo Alto," John said, tacking a weather pattern map to the hotel room wall. Dean sat behind him, leaning back in the desk chair and studying the papers John had put up. The oldest Winchester had indeed arrived in the afternoon, meeting an exhausted and disheveled Dean at the hotel. After renting a room for himself (the one right next to Dean's) he brought his son in with him and then went over the signs that showed that the demon could be on its way to California; to Sam. 

"Electrical storms?" Dean asked, looking up from the data.

"Yeah, why?"

"You know last night there was this weird thunder and lightning thing, and then the rain stopped but the lightning kept on going for at least an hour after that."

"It could be closer than I thought then," John sighed. "You have Sam's address, right? I think I should pay him a visit."

"Dad… it didn't go over real well with Sam last night. He completely flipped out, told me he wanted me to get out of his life, and he stormed out of here twice," Dean sighed.

"Not really unexpected though, was it?" John said clinically, not even looking at Dean, not even sounding interested in what he was saying. "We'll just have to explain it to him again, make him see that it's the truth."

"And how are you planning on doing that? You going to kidnap him and toss him in front of a ghost or something to convince him?" Dean asked with irritation. "Are you even listening to me? Sam totally flipped out! We'll be lucky if he lets me within 100 feet of him, let alone welcoming me into his home for a little chat. He thinks I'm nuts, and I'm beginning to think that maybe he's right!"

"Nonsense, crazy people never realize they're crazy, that's how you can set them apart," John said gruffly.

"Oh funny joke, Dad. Don't you even care? Doesn't it even bother you to think of Sam out there – unprotected and unaware – not knowing the truth; not able to grasp the truth, while this demon is coming?"

"Of course it bothers me, Dean," John said gruffly, back turned from Dean, staring out the motel room window at the California landscape. So many of his own mistakes had led them to this point; to a place where Sam and Dean weren't _brothers_, and his own son could not be expected to greet him with anything other than suspicion and contempt. He probably deserved it, but in his defense, Sam did not know why he did what he did, so he could not possibly understand any of it.

And now… well now he wasn't so sure that feeling some sort of distance from Sam was necessarily a bad thing. The demon had plans for Sam, that much John knew. He also had a good idea of what those 'plans' entailed, and there was no way he would let the demon use Sam or anyone to complete his agenda. And if Sam went along with it, if he helped that thing that killed Mary, then John would stop him, permanently.

"Come on Dean, let's go pay your brother a visit."

* * *

**A/N: Aw poor Sammy. He's in for a world of trouble now. Let me know what you thought and if you have any requests for future chapters!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**_Ada_**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here's another chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 10

* * *

"Sam," Jessica said quietly in the doorway of his bedroom. After telling the Jacobs about Dean's visits and exactly what happened when Sam returned home the previous night they had exchanged more loaded glances and then politely asked Jessica to check on Sam. She recognized a dismissal when she was given one, but she didn't really care, she needed to make sure Sam was alright, he was the most important person in her world last night. 

And Sam had to be alright, because last night had to have been a fluke. Sam did not disappear in the middle of the night, then return making hysteria-driven orders and flee from his own home. That hadn't been the Sam she had known for these past few years, that hadn't been the Sam she fell in love with. She knew everything about him, but last night he had been someone unrecognizable.

So she just knew that Sam would wake up and smile and ask her why she looked so worried, because last night was all wrong and not Sam.

Still sleeping when she opened the door, Jessica could see that Sam's forehead was scrunched up and he was tossing slightly in the bed, making pained noises. "Sam," she repeated, crossing the blue-walled room and kneeling on the bed beside him. She reached out to him, her hand hovering just over his tensed shoulder when his eyes shot open, staring with absolute terror at the ceiling. He seemed to freeze for a second, his eyes latched to the ceiling above as though searching for something, and when he realized that it was empty, just a dome light on it, all the air seemed to whoosh out of him and his eyes closed for a second in his relief.

"Sam?" she whispered, and he opened his eyes again, turning towards her voice.

"Hey," he said, sitting up and putting his arms around her. He seemed more relaxed, more like _Sam_ now. "You're beautiful, you know?" he said softly.

Jess smiled and her body relaxed into his touch. She was right, last night had all been a mistake. She still didn't know exactly what had driven Sam to the panic he had been in, but she did one thing Sam sure as hell was never allowed to go out with Dean again.

She didn't want to ruin the moment, not with Sam's strong arms around her and her hands stroking his hair. She did not want to let go of Sam and ask him to go downstairs, to his parents who were waiting, worried. Because even though Sam's parents had a previous claim to him, she felt, since the moment she first saw him, that Sam was _hers. _

He had been walking across the campus, tall and confident, on his way to an academic building, and for just an instant their eyes met, and Jess knew, she just _knew. _She never believed in 'love at first sight' before, but after that moment, that split second of eye contact, she did believe. And she would have done anything to get to know him.

The day after she saw him in her sociology class, and immediately sat beside him. When they were told to pair off, she chose him. Their study sessions always went later than necessary and she found reasons to drop by his dorm whenever she could. Jessica would admit it to anyone – she pursued Sam, sweet, clueless Sam who just never seemed to notice, made her come right out and tell him that she wanted him before he even realized she had been interested. And all her effort paid off in the end, Sam was hers now, and she wouldn't let anyone take him away if he didn't want to go. Though Jess wondered if she could let Sam leave if she knew he truly wanted to.

But she knew the Jacobs were worried and so she told him that his parents were waiting on him and he asked her to give him a minute to get dressed. And God, to even have him say something that _normal_ after the terror of the previous night, made Jessica feel like she could sing. She left the room, feeling as if a great weight had lifted off of her, and completely unaware of what happened as soon as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

Sam rubbed his hands across his face, thinking on the previous night, the things Dean had said. He wished he could erase that meeting from his mind, that he could forget everything Dean has told him. No, Sam really wished he could go back in time and stop himself from answering the door the first time Dean rang the bell. He tried to work out how Dean knew about the nightmares, who would have told him. Because the only way Dean could know was if someone told him, told him so he could construct some ridiculous story about Mary Winchester and demons to… to what? 

He still couldn't quite figure out what Dean had really wanted from him. Of course he didn't stick around long enough to ask, but he really would not have gone through all of that effort if there wasn't some other part to it, some next step in the plan. He fervently hoped he would never find out just what Dean had been after; what would cause him to come into Sam's life and mess with it so much.

No matter what his intentions were, Dean had clearly gotten into his head. Because that nightmare, with the fire and the blood, that had forever been about the blonde woman, the stranger in his dreams. It had never been about Jessica, not until after he met Dean, not until Dean told him that Mary had died that way.

Sam remembered the previous night, and the dream he had awoken from, the absolute terror of watching as Jessica burned on the ceiling of his apartment building. Perhaps Dean was going to kill her? Would he kill Jessica just to get to Sam? But why? What could he possibly want from Sam to be willing to go that far?

Still the dream had clearly taken place in the apartment, the dream was definitely not here, not in his parent's house. And he breathed out a sigh of relief, believing he had done the right thing by leaving when he had. And God… he loved Jess so much. He couldn't believe someone so gorgeous and smart and wonderful had pursued him for so long, had wanted to be with him, and that she loved him. She had her faults of course, everyone did, but he couldn't imagine life without Jess.

_('Then you'll do what I say.')_

Sam started at the sound of the voice in his head. He wanted to think that leaving would have made it go away, that things would have changed. What Sam really, really wanted was to believe that he had never heard the voice in the first place. Because last night, when everything seemed grim and disturbing, then the voice seemed to fit, all of it seemed not so crazy. But to listen to that man's deep tones now… in broad daylight in his bedroom at home, that was different, that was strange… wasn't it? _('I'm the only one who can help you protect Jessica,') _the voice murmured. With the mention of Jessica's name, Sam's doubts and thoughts all disappeared and he listened carefully, waiting for him to elaborate, to hear more about what this person knew of Jessica, of what Jessica needed protecting from…

"What do I have to do?" Sam whispered to the empty room when no further information seemed to be coming, wondering if the voice, whoever it was, wherever it was coming from, could hear him.

_('Stay far away from Dean and John Winchester.')_

"Sam? Are you coming?" Jess' voice filtered through the door and Sam snapped up from the bed immediately, the voice disappearing as he struggled to dress quickly. And the man… the man told him that to protect Jessica he had to stay away from Dean and John… Sam was pretty sure he could do that.

* * *

Sam avoided having any insane outbursts as he reassured his family that he was okay, but still failed to give them a reason for his actions. Though Patty's mind was already filled with ideas and dread about how Dean Winchester fit into all of this. Sam did not say one word about Dean at all, and that made it all the more obvious that Dean was somehow involved than if Dean had spoken about him. 

"Sammy honey, you know you're free to stay here whenever you want, but please sweetie, tell me what's going on," Patty requested softly, sitting beside Sam in the kitchen, Jessica upstairs searching for her cell phone and Dan having been called in to the hospital.

"I just need to get away from the apartment for a while," Sam shrugged. _Until I'm sure Dean has left and Jess is safe, _he added to himself. _She burned in the apartment, not in this house, not here. We're safe here._

"Does this have something to do with Dean?" she asked softly, her eyes following Sam's. He turned away from her, halfway between anger and fear. Anger that someone had told her about Dean. Fear that she knew, knew more than she said, that she knew all about Dean and Jessica and burning and the voice and that meant all of it really was real. Because, if he was honest with himself, Sam still wasn't sure if all of this wasn't some sort of trick. But he wouldn't take that risk, wouldn't doubt any of it if it meant Jess' life was in danger.

"How do you know about Dean?" he asked finally, staring at the wall and the cherry cabinets.

"Jessica told me. She was worried about you honey," Patty added, assuming that Sam hadn't wanted anyone to be told about his brother's arrival. "What did Dean say to you, what did he do?" she asked.

"This isn't about Dean," Sam mumbled, his lie not completely believable.

"Dean was alone, wasn't he? There wasn't someone with him?" Patty questioned, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind caught in the horror of that night so many years ago. _"Patty there's someone upstairs! Call the police!" Dan held a rifle in shaking hands as he climbed the stairs, Patty fumbling with the phone, terrified. And the worst part of all, Sammy upstairs, and that terrible silence that came when something really was wrong._

"What do you mean?"

"He… John wasn't with him, was he?" Her voice shook slightly with fear and her eyes gazed at Sam's face as he turned to her again, studying him, knowing he could never lie when their eyes were locked.

"No. John wasn't there. Isn't he still in the nuthouse anyway?" Sam mumbled.

"He should be," she answered, relieved that it had just been Dean, not anyone else. "Sammy, come on, tell me what's happened."

"It was just Dean you know. He showed up without any warning and wanted to be all buddy-buddy. Just something about him isn't right," Sam responded vaguely, standing and walking away from the table. He leaned against the counter, the granite cold against his fingers as he watched for his mother's reaction.

"I can understand that. You know… John's influence on Dean was strong when he was young. And John being what he was… it just would have been surprising if there wasn't something odd about Dean," Patty said, choosing her words carefully.

"Is that why you adopted me and not him too?" Sam asked. This question had never been posed to Patty by Sam before, and she was taken aback, staring at Sam through pale blue eyes, gathering her thoughts.

"Sammy, what you have to understand is that Dean was older, you know, old enough to remember all of it, to have let it influence him. And it wasn't just that…" Patty stood now, crossing the room to where Sam leaned on the counters, facing him and staring up into his face. "I came to see your father at work… and he was in the room examining the bruise on your jaw, and at first I just saw you, so young and beautiful and vulnerable. I honestly paused, I was so taken, I think I loved you right away. And then I saw Dean, he was sitting beside you on the exam table, holding your hand and staring at you in the way a parent or a guardian would, so focused and adult-like for such a little boy. I went in and tried to talk to you, and you stared up at me and opened your mouth like you wanted to respond, but Dean squeezed your hand and you closed it again, refused to say a word to me.

"You and Dean… the two of you were connected to the exclusion of outsiders. And I knew that if I took both of you in, that I would never really know either of you. Dean already saw himself as your parent, and I doubt he would have relinquished the role. And it wasn't good for him. He was too young to define himself completely by his little brother, to have someone else be his responsibility. It wasn't good for either of you. You both needed childhoods and love and support, and somehow… I just think that you never would have had it if you stayed together. It's all very difficult to explain."

Patty seemed almost apologetic as she spoke, and Sam was immediately sorry that he even asked. He didn't want to make her explain herself over something that happened almost twenty years ago, something Sam did not remember and could never really understand. He loved Patty and Dan, they were his parents, and they had never done anything to make him doubt that they loved him. He wouldn't give up the life he had lived with them for anything, and especially not for Dean Winchester.

_"She didn't do it for you, she did it for herself."_ Sam winced as the voice cut through his thoughts. His mother noticed, and reached out to him but he backed away, bewildered. _("They don't love you, Sammy. They just want to __you.")_

"I'm gonna go upstairs… to… grab something…" Sam mumbled, hurrying out of the room, his heart beating fast in his chest. He climbed the stairs in a rush, frightened that Patty would find out about the voice, would somehow divine it from the expression on his face. He paused in the hall to get his bearings.

_("They're not your real parents. They don't deserve you.")_ the voice kicked in suddenly.

"Why are you saying all of this?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low, not wanting to be overheard.

_("You can't trust them.")_

"Why not?! Who the hell are you, what do you want?"

_("I'm here to help you Sammy, to protect you from the others, the ones that only want to use you and hurt you.")_

"Yeah? Why should I believe you?"

_("Because if you don't…")_ He trailed off and as his voice faded a searing pain shot through Sam's temples and his vision shook and went white before clearing up on a single image. Jess pinned to the ceiling abdomen covered in blood marring her snow white clothes, her mouth twisted in a silent scream.

"No, no," Sam repeated, shaking his head, digging his fingers into his skull trying to be rid of the image.

Flames blossomed from behind her and Sam dropped to his knees.

"Stop! Please!" he cried. "Don't show me this!"

White shuddered through the image and then Sam's vision settled on the green carpeted hallway. His head pounded and he couldn't erase what he had just seen (again!) from his memory. "Please, I – I can't let that happen to her," Sam whispered, his head in his hands, Jessica's pain-filled eyes staring out at him through his mind's eye.

_("As long as you listen to me, Jessica is perfectly safe. I can protect __her,__ I can protect both of you.")_

* * *

"You sure this is the place?" John asked, ringing the buzzer for what seemed to be the fiftieth time at the door to Sam's apartment building. 

"Of course I'm sure, I've been inside," Dean responded with annoyance. "Maybe he's just out."

John nudged Dean out of the way and backed up as someone approached the steps. He unlocked the door and opened it, not paying attention to John who caught the door at the last minute and ushered Dean through.

They climbed the stairs in silence, Dean in front until they reached the second floor and Dean headed down the hall for Sam's. They paused outside the door and Dean knocked hard, not really expecting an answer but humoring his father. John tapped his fingers against his leg impatiently and as Dean gave up and turned to him, he noticed John eyeing the lock much too closely.

"No," Dean said firmly. "You're not going to break into Sam's apartment. He's already pissed off, that'll just make it worse."

"I was just going to check for sulfur traces, make sure he left of his own accord," John shrugged.

"How about we check the parking lot for his car first? Jesus…" Dean muttered as he pulled John back down the hall.

* * *

Jessica paused at the doorway to Sam's bedroom, thinking she had heard his voice from the hall. Listening for a moment she definitely heard the timbre of his voice, speaking in hushed tones, whispering a one-sided conversation. 

She thought he must be talking on his cell phone and peered around the corner for a better look. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Sam had his back to her, and both of his hands were visible, both empty, and no headset on his ears. She listened for his mother's voice – was she calling up to him? – but could not hear her.

"Yeah? Why should I believe you?" Sam said. There was a moment of silence before Sam suddenly lurched forward, hands gripping his head. "No, no…" Everything in her screamed at her to go to him, to put her arms around him, to stop whatever it was that was hurting him. But instead she seemed planted to the floor, completely frozen, incapable of moving even a little as she watched her boyfriend, her love fell to his knees and ranted.

"Stop! Please! Don't show me this!" She winced with each syllable, unknown horrors floating through her mind, incomprehensible possibilities. Words like 'mental illness' and 'nuthouse' and 'medication' echoing between her ears.

"Please, I – I can't let that happen to her." Sam's head was in his hands and she thought she heard him crying.

The sobbing got her feet moving, and she hurried down the hall, kneeling behind Sam, whose head was buried in his hands. Pulling him close to her chest, she got him to turn, to look up at her, his eyes lost and filled with tears. "I can't lose you," he whispered, his arms wrapping around her as he held her desperately.

"You won't," she said softly though she had no idea what he was referring to, what he had seen or heard, what sparked this breakdown. Her fingers ran lightly through his hair as she comforted him there in the hallway, wishing that none of this was happening, wanting nothing more than to wake up and find out it had all been a nightmare, and everything was back to normal. "You won't."

* * *

**A/N: Oh Sam, you have so many issues. If you feel like the story is moving really fast, then you're right, cause that's the point. You should feel just as unsettled as they do.**

**Thanks for reading, leave me a review to remember you by!**

**-Ada**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This would've been up sooner, but RL decided to kick my ass these last few weeks. Anyway, this is the last sort of 'filler' chapter, next time the action begins. Enjoy!**_

* * *

_

**House of Cards**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 11

* * *

When Sam woke up he acted as if the previous day never even happened. The mania of the day before, the conversation with someone no one else could hear, the collapsing in the hall, the tears and his words about not wanting to lose Jessica were all suddenly gone. She marveled at the sudden change, more than a little uneasy about the whole thing. He got dressed, hurried Jess and then they were in the convertible, headed for Stanford for the first day of classes.

Jessica tried to talk to him about the previous day, tried to find out what had happened, but every time she had almost broached the subject Sam abruptly changed it. His good mood, which she usually found infectious now filled with her a sort of dread. And once again something roiled in her stomach as her brain flew with too many terrible possibilities, ranging from Sam being a drug addict to him having schizophrenia. She decided to stick as close to him as possible, which was not too difficult, she lived with him after all. However it was with some trepidation that she kissed him goodbye and watched him walk off to his first class of the day.

* * *

"Hey Sam!" Karen greeted brightly over a cup of coffee as she headed into the room where the senior law seminar was held. She sat beside him and hefted a notebook out of her messenger bag.

"Hey Karen," Sam returned the greeting with a little less enthusiasm, as he wondered how much coffee Karen had already consumed.

"You know I stopped by your apartment yesterday," she said, skipping over the requisite 'how are you' and getting straight into the meat of what she wanted to talk about.

"Yeah… we weren't home yesterday," Sam said carefully.

"Well I figured that when I caught the door behind somebody and went straight to your apartment. Weird thing was, there were these two men lurking in your hallway," she added as though nervous to say it. The sight of the two lingering in the hall, wandering around, the older of the two staring at her as though memorizing her face when she knocked on Sam's door had made her anxious. She could not imagine what they had been there for, but felt best to tell Sam about it.

"What guys?" he asked, his voice seemed a little higher than normal.

"Um well the one was like our age-ish, with blonde hair, about six feet tall, the other was older, could be his father, and had dark hair, sort of a gruff look to him." Sam's eyes widened slightly and then returned to normal. "Do you know them?" Karen questioned.

"Uh yeah… sort of… they've been hanging around lately, made Jess uncomfortable so we went to stay at my parents for a while.

"Did you call the cops?" Karen asked, pushing a short lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ears.

Sam thought of Dean's Lawrence, Kansas police detective badge and shook his head. "I don't think that would really make much of a difference."

"So what are you going to do then? Avoid your apartment forever?"

That certainly was not an option, Jess had already told him they needed to go back to get the rest of her clothes, her books, and some other items. Not to mention Sam had left his textbooks, notes, and other things in the apartment. He would definitely need to find some way to get in without Dean or… (could it be John with him?) realizing he was there. Of course if they were staking out his apartment they would eventually realize he wasn't really living there, and then how long would it take them to go to his parent's house? He could not imagine the confrontation that would take place if John Winchester waltzed up the front steps.

He sighed and focused on the professor who had just cleared his throat to gain their attention, trying to keep his mind off Dean and John and the voice that occasionally spoke in his head, trying to focus on law, on his future.

* * *

"Jess! Hey Jessy!" Dave called as he chased Jessica down where she was speed-walking across the quad. He finally reached out to grab her arm, forcing her to stop and acknowledge him.

"Oh hi Dave," Jessica said, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"You looked pretty determined a minute ago, something wrong?" he asked her, his face the picture of concern.

"I just wanted to meet up with Sam, his class got out five minutes ago," she explained quickly, trying to brush him off.

"Now I know you two are devoted and whatever, but jeez Jessy, you live with the guy, is not seeing him for two hours really that painful?" he joked.

"Look I just need to see him, okay?" Jessica said firmly, turning from Dave and continuing towards the brick academic building. _What if he had another – episode or whatever – what if someone saw? What if he's upset? What if something happened?_ Her mind spun with scenarios, each worse then the next, and she quickened her pace.

Dave, confused, followed after her. "Why, is something wrong? Did something happen to you? Did something happen to Sam?" he questioned as he matched her pace.

"I can't talk about it, okay?" Jessica said with annoyance, whirling on him. "It's between me and Sam."

"Well there he is now," Dave said, gesturing to where the tall brunette was walking down the sidewalk, eyebrows furrowed in a look of concentration, Karen just behind him looking miffed.

"Sam!" Jess called out, and sighed in relief as Sam's eyes caught hers and he seemed more contemplative than depressed, more troubled than crazy.

"Hey Jess," Sam greeted.

"How's your day going?" she asked, not being more specific in deference to Karen and Dave who were standing there listening and watching.

"Fine. Look, I have a two hour break, so I'm going to head back home and get our stuff, okay?" Sam whispered.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Jessica asked. "If you wait a little while then I can go with you, wouldn't that make more sense?"

"Nah I'll grab Pete, it won't take long, and then I'll be back for my last class and we can go you know, back to my parent's place afterward."

"I'd really rather you waited for me," Jessica said, furrowing her eyebrows and wondering exactly what Sam wasn't telling her. The last few days had been a whirlwind of confusion and the last thing she wanted was Sam out of her sight for any extended period of time. Something was going on here, something bad, and she needed to know what it was, needed to know how she could help him.

"Come on Jess, it isn't a big deal okay," Sam said with a reassuring smile that used to placate her. Now it just caused her to stare at him with suspicion. He should have counted on that, she always knew when he was lying. But, no matter how angry it made her, there was no way he was letting her anywhere near that apartment with John and Dean staking it out.

* * *

"Alright Pete, here's the deal, I'm going to go in through the window, when I call you, you get those guys away from the door, ring me when they've cleared the area and then we'll get away from here."

"Uh sure Sam, but who are these dudes anyway, and why don't you just call the police?" Pete asked. They were leaning against the side of Sam's car, planning how to get into the apartment building. Pete had been quite curious when Sam asked him to help him move some things from his apartment, and that curiosity piqued when Sam mentioned somewhat nervously that there were people waiting outside of his door that he needed to avoid at all cost, but he had refused earlier to explain exactly why those men were there.

"Alright I'll tell you the truth. The one guy I know is definitely my biological brother," Sam sighed.

"Sam what the hell, when did he get here, why didn't you tell me?" Pete looked affronted, the news that Sam's biological brother had turned up in his life sort of sounded like something one should tell their friends.

"He's working some sort of angle okay, and I don't know… I don't like the way he looks at Jess," Sam said, taking a bit of poetic license with his description.

"You think he would hurt her?" Pete asked, surprise and fear crossing his features.

Sam thought back to the voice, to the nightmare with the fire and the blood. "I know he would," Sam ground out. "Fact is, he's messed up, really messed up, but he's also a cop in his hometown, and technically he hasn't done anything except loiter so involving the police would just make everything more complicated."

"Jesus Sam, that sucks. What about the other guy?"

"Sounds like it could be my… uh… my brother's father," he shrugged, unwilling to refer to John Winchester as his own father as well. "I don't know for sure, but I'm definitely not going to walk up to my door with the two of them standing there. This is just a mess, and I don't know…" Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we need this stuff, so I have to get in there."

"Okay Sam, we'll follow your plan, should be easy," Pete said, trying to reassure his friend.

* * *

They parked behind the building, below Sam's kitchen window. Pete watched as Sam carefully climbed the tree next to the apartment, heading for the window, hoping that Sam wasn't about to fall out and crack his head on the pavement of anything.

Sam was glad they left the window open and unlocked, it would make his life easier. Though he should really be concerned that breaking into his home was so easy, Sam knew that most people would not have gone this route unless they knew the place particularly well. After all, just about every person knew how to bust into their house in case they locked themselves out, it was a necessary part of life. Of course it would be easier if he were on the first floor.

He pulled himself up on the branch, thanking Jess for dragging him to the gym every other day as he perched precariously and then balanced himself against the wall. He grabbed the window ledge with his right hand and jostled at the screen, pushing it in until the clips broke and the screen fell onto the kitchen floor. That done Sam grasped the window frame with both hands and pulled himself into the apartment. He sidled over the counter and landed on the floor.

He gave Pete the 'all clear' sign before heading for the bedroom. He pulled out Jess' favorite Samsonite Spinner suitcase and quickly tossed in clothes and her jewelry boxes. The shampoos and lotions they would just replace. He tossed his clothes on top until the suitcase couldn't hold anymore weight, and then zipped it up and pulled out his duffle bags. He chose just the books he needed for now as he packed it, but took most of Jess'. He also put both of their laptop cases inside.

Sam quietly made his way to the front door and stared through the peephole to see Dean lounging casually against the wall across from the door. A shadow moved just out of the range of the hole to his left and then someone walked towards Dean. It had been years since he had seen that face in person, but between the nightmares and the photo, and the small trill of fear in Sam's stomach he immediately knew it was his father. Breathing heavily, Sam turned away from the door, leaning against the wall and trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

_He can't hurt me, he can't; he doesn't even know I'm in here._

With trembling fingers he pulled out his cell phone and rang Pete, closing it when Pete answered with 'show time!'.

* * *

Pete raced up the stairs to Sam's apartment, ready to put years of drama camp to use. Trying his best to school his features in an expression of concern and fear, he bounded up the last step and turned into the hall. Instantly spotting the two men Sam told him about, he passed them and went to Sam's door. Banging on it, he shouted, "Jessica! Jess, you in there?! Come on it's important! Sam's hurt, Jess!" he cried, sounding genuinely worried and frightened. "It's… It's really bad… you need to come with me… we'll… we'll go to the hospital… and… Jessica! Are you there?!" He banged on the door one more time. "Dammit! Where are you?!" He turned and ran back down the stairs, pausing on the middle landing and listening closely. He heard footsteps following him, and, with a smile, raced the rest of the way to the parking lot.

Pete watched as the two men exited the building and climbed into a black '67 Impala and then pulled his phone out and called Sam.

* * *

Dean heard a thump behind the door he had been standing near for over a day now. He listened closely for the sound of footsteps as someone wandered around Sam's apartment. The steps came straight to the door and for a moment Dean could see the shadow under the door, the person could be looking through the peephole at them right now. Knowing that Sam must have been tipped off and decided that breaking into his apartment was preferable to having to see him again (and that made him feel sick, Sam hating him that much) Dean pondered over their options. The footsteps receded and at the same time a young man came barreling around the corner running straight for Sam's door.

Seeing easily through the ruse, Dean raised his eyebrows at his Dad, who rolled his eyes in response as this friend of Sam's turned and ran back the way he came. John nodded and the pair followed, allowing Sam and his friend to think they had fooled them. Climbing in to the Impala, Dean started it up and rounded a corner, letting the car idle where it would be hidden by the wall. They watched, craning their necks toward the windshield as Sam exited the building via the back door, a suitcase and duffle bag in his arms. He and the other guy headed for Sam's car. A few minutes later Dean watched as Sam's convertible tore out of the parking lot. For just an instant, Sam turned his head and met Dean's eyes, but then all Dean saw was the car's back end as Sam took off.

"He must be staying at the Jacobs' house," John said. "I wanted to avoid a run-in with them, but it doesn't look like we have much choice."

"Got an address?" Dean sighed. John nodded, pulling out a leather-bound journal and turning pages. "Dad, can we just give him another day? He must be really on-edge right now, I don't see how us storming up to his parents' house is going to help."

"We don't have a lot of time to waste, Dean," John said sternly.

"Yeah I know. But right now we know where Sam is, we know he's okay. It's going to be a lot harder to protect him if he takes off, runs away somewhere. Give him another day to mull this over, then we can go talk to him."

John must have seen the wisdom in this because he nodded and instructed Dean to take them back to the hotel. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, and wished that he believed in his own reasoning, that the real reason he wanted to wait was not because he was afraid to see Sam again; afraid of how Sam would react towards him.

* * *

_"Good work, Sammy" _the voice cooed in Sam's head. He groaned, having hoped it would leave him alone.

"Something wrong?" Pete asked, having noticed Sam's sudden irritation.

"No… well except for the whole breaking into my own apartment thing. Don't tell anyone about this alright?" Sam requested… again.

"Of course not. But dude, you can't avoid them forever. If they know where you live then they might know where you go to school, where your parents live. It's only a matter of time. What're you going to do?"

"I don't know, Pete," Sam sighed as he parked the car in the student lot, grabbing his bag before he slammed the door shut harder than necessary.

* * *

**A/N: Review if you want to see what happens when the Jacobs and the Winchesters come face-to-face! (though you'll end up seeing that whether you review or not really... oh well.)**


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